Love is Blind
by Min Daae
Summary: Ah, the crack pairings. Ranging from sweet and fluffy to downright sexy, almost love to definitely romantic. Enjoy, R&R! PAIRINGS: ElayneBirgitte, GraendalAran'gar. UPDATED, finally.
1. Contact

_A/N: I don't like this chapter anymore, so I'm rewriting it. If anyone really wants a copy of the Scottish Prayer…send me a PM. I'll give it to you._

_So, rewritten! All shorter than usual…but fun. I'm making themes for every chapter from now on. This chapter's theme is contact._

_Dedicated to the Grammarian, my wubable Minlayne shipper._

_FaileBerelain: So fun to write. And very sexy._

_**Summary: **Berelain wants something, and will stop at nothing to get it. _

_MinElayne: Eeee, cuteness. I understand why tG ships this._

_**Summary: **Contact: Min discovers something about herself and Elayne._

_MatNynaeve: Eh, my least favorite of this chapter, but still fun. Wub it. _

_And as always review, review, review!_

Berelain was a conundrum to Faile.

Her gaze was like a caress over her body, gliding over the curves of her dress, an eyebrow lifting, lips quirking in an admiring smile that dared Faile to answer her back.

Her eyes! They steamed, promising so much and giving nothing. They alternated between burning heat that smoldered and suggested, and a cool assurance that Faile would not be able to resist. At first, she had fought, turning away from that lingering gaze that was almost a touch. Then she challenged, meeting that gaze, daring Berelain to come closer. But Berelain was not afraid. She knew what she wanted. Her smile widened, her eyes dilating. Faile's heart beat faster, and she almost fled, but she stood her ground. Berelain was hunting, and no matter how much she resented it, Faile was on the run.

Berelain blided to her, her eyes glowing with intense desire. Faile's pulse throbbed, heat rising behind her eyes. Her throat felt stuck, her breath sticky and harsh in her own mouth. She closed her eyes and exhaled, but Berelain's fingers walked up her arm, her touch feather light. Faile's skin tingled. She had to force herself to stand her ground. Berelain was smile, her long, slender hand tracing the line of Faile's chin.

A shudder of pure pleasure rippled through Faile, and she moaned softly, flinching away from Berelain's hand tracing the curve of her body. Her skin tingled as though the dress was not there, and she stood naked before Berelain, her eyes piercing through her and seeing her soul laid out before her eyes.

Then he mouth was on Faile's hot and hungry, her lips soft and warm. Faile twined her arms around Berelain and kissed her back, giving into desire, relishing the feel of Berelain's lips, basking in everypoint of contact between her own body and Berelain's. Looking into her eyes, blazing with desire, Faile could see her own reflected back, burning with the same heat.

* * *

_When did it change? _Min wondered as she stared out the window at the gardens of Caemlyn. _When did it change from a simple bond of friendship to something more, something so small and subtle, a difference so quiet that neither of us noticed it? Until…_

Elayne was beautiful – Min had always known that, but never envied it. She would never be beautiful as Elayne was, with her pixieish face and delicate features, a full, laughing mouth, flowing red hair – yes, Elayne was beautiful. But she had never looked at her as more than a friend, never seen her as someone like Rand, someone to be desired and loved in a different way. But then, she had never thought of herself as desirable either. But today, suddenly, everything had changed, everything had been turned on its head, and suddenly she was looking at herself and her friend as she never had before.

All those conversations, all those deep sharings of secrets, those bonds that they shared with no one else…Elayne's eyes, trying to tell her something as she spoke of love, trying desperately to communicate something that Min could not understand. Until…

Today. Today everything was different. Today they had been talking, and suddenly Elayne's arm had slipped around her waist, suddenly their hips were touching, Elayne's breath on her neck suddenly so much clearer than before. Suddenly every sense of the way they were standing had changed, and suddenly Min did not want to let go. Elayne's eyes were watching her, and Min realized with a start that her almost-sister was trembling. She wanted to kiss Elayne, she wanted to hold her and feel Elayne's body close to hers. They had frozen. That moment of contact, that moment of change…

And all Min's certainties were blown away.

_When did it change? _She wondered. _Or did it ever? Did she always love me, tremble with the effort of keeping still when I held her close?_

So strange, Min thought, so strange, how the meaning of one moment could change forever…just by the touch of a hand on your waist, a realization that you were cradling beauty in your arms, beauty that you wanted to kiss and hold and love.

And Min was afraid of that…

But part of her wanted it, too, wanted it desperately.

The door creaked open, and Min wheeled around. Elayne flushed and then smiled, looking abashed. She was holding a rose. "I wanted to apologize…for this morning. I acted most improperly. I should not have…"

"No," said Min quietly. "It wasn't you. I wanted it too."

And then they were in each other's arms, Elayne sobbing into Min's shoulder, Min stroking her hair. That beautiful hair. And they kissed.

It was wonderful.

* * *

Matrim Cauthon was confused, and confused was not something Matrim Cauthon wanted to be.

Mat had never seen himself as the kind of man to fall in love. Girls were pretty, good for a quick cuddle and maybe a kiss or two, but no more than that. Commitment was not Mat's farte. But what he felt now, that itch in his throat, the tight feeling around his heart - he had a sneaking suspicion that it was love.

He had heard it described so many times - even felt it a few, in his memories - that he recognized it for what it was, and what it should not be. That quickening in his throat when he saw her. The whisper of longing when she met his eyes. But it was so peculiar, so impossible...

Mat knew that love knew no poundaries, did not pick and choose its victims, but somehow Mat felt vaguely cheated.

Nynaeve was not the woman he had imagined himself loving, not by half. She was everything he was not, and besides, it was obvious that she hated him.

Or did she?

Did he just imagine the glimmer in her eyes when he looked at her? Did he dream the quickening of her pulse when they touched? Was it just his hope, or his mad love, that saw her following him with her eyes?

He wanted to ask her. He wanted to ask her, _What if we touched? What would you do if we touched, if I held you and caressed your face? Would you laugh? Would you push me away? Or would you let me hold you close? _Mat wondered if she was afraid, too. If she feared what she felt, if she felt anything.

"What would you do if I kiss you?" he asked the air. "Would you flinch, and slap me, refuse to let me into your life?

But Matrim Cauthon knew that he would never know, never ask.

Simply dream - and imagine those gazes, long for her touch, drink in the hope that someday she would let him hold her, let him touch her, and would not flinch away.


	2. Without Eyes, See Pathways

_A/N: Still here, still crazy. Still don't own Wheel of Time. Nough said._

_This chapter:_

_Elayne/Aviendha_

_Nynaeve/Birgitte_

_And, because I love the Grammarian:_

_Faile/Rolan_

Aviendha was thinking.

Actually, she was deliberating. No, she decided. That was being dishonest with herself. She was fantasizing. For as long as she had been some distance from Elayne, she could pretend that she didn't know or didn't understand what she was feeling, that it was just some sense of protectiveness that caused that electric jolt whenever she closeted herself in corners with that wetlander, when Aviendha caught her giggling, pressed up against his chest as he slid his hands under her blouse. But that was dishonest, too, and now that they were sisters, Rand al'Thor had no superior claim to her sister. But still the jealousy remained (and jealousy it was, she had to admit).

She had hoped that binding herself to Elayne in the closest way she knew how would ease that sense of possessiveness. But it hadn't, not at all. If anything, it had intensified that feeling, especially when they were all bound to Rand, when she could sense, sometimes, Elayne's thoughts and feelings as if they were her very own.

A year ago, Aviendha had scorned wetlanders, and now here she was, in love with one of them. Of course, Elayne must never know. For who could ever learn to love a sister as more? And so she waited, and watched, and smiled her way through Elayne's sighing renditions of Rand's handsomeness and her explosions at the inconvenience of her pregnancy. And when she was gone, she would worry, and wonder, and wait, and never lose sight of that love.

A sister's love, Aviendha argued to herself. That was all it was.

But not even she believed it.

* * *

Nynaeve sat by Birgitte's side as the woman's chest rose and fell weakly. In saving Nynaeve's life, she might well have given her own. She slid a small, trembling hand into Birgitte's flaccid, still palm, and prayed to the Light and everything good that Birgitte would not die.

She realized that she hadn't had a single thought of Lan, not for a long time now, as the night hours worn on. And the thought of him now didn't make her want to tug her braid in frustration or smooth her dress self-consciously. Rather, she brushed the thought of him aside and leaned over Birgitte, her fingers fluttering at Brigitte's throat, arranging the crude men's clothing that Juilin and Thom had managed to procure, Looking at the hollow of her graceful throat, so real and alive as it had not been in Tel'aran'rhiod, Nynaeve felt her breath quicken, and wondered at the flutter in her breast.

She gently tucked Birgitte's blonde hair, coming loose from a fraying braid, back behind her ears, lifting her limp hands to rest on either side of her unresponsive body, smoothing the blankets down, all of the motions of a lover at a wounded beloved's beside, keeping vigil through the night. As Birgitte stirred and murmured in restless sleep, Nynaeve leaned over and whispered soothingly, kissing Birgitte's forehead gently. "Shh, sweetheart. Sleep."

Nynaeve found her hands wandering to Birgitte's face again, exploring the curves and hollows of her face intimately and tenderly. She realized that what she was feeling should have been irrational and wrong, but it felt so right, and she could not deny that the leap in her chest at touching Birgitte's sweaty, feverish skin was only akin to what she had felt until recently when she thought of Lan, and admit that she had progressed beyond friendship for this woman who had so suddenly and unexpectedly become more than a dream, and in her reality forced Nynaeve to accept realities she was not prepared for.

_Plenty of women have pillow friends, _she tried to convince herself. _This is no different. She need not know. I am just feeling a strong bond to her right now, because she is hurt, because I caused her injury…_

But as she sat and watched over Birgitte's restless sleep, she came to accept something that not so long ago would have caused her to flush with shame. "I love her," she murmured. "Light, I love a woman who's hardly more than a dream –"

"It's all right," said a weak, unsteady voice from the bed, as dawn slowly began to flicker in the eastern sky. "I've had stranger offers."

Nynaeve gasped and wheeled from the mirror she had been brooding in. Birgitte was sitting up, leaning on her elbow and watching her every move. Her eyes were bleary and her motion weak, but she was unmistakably alive. Elayne's risky venture had worked. "You…you heard?" she said, blushing to the roots of her dark hair.The shame, the _scandal…_

Birgitte smiled weakly. "Nynaeve," she said. "It's all right. I…I love you too."

Nyneave flew to the bedside and threw her arms around Birgitte and said, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," and then, to her eternal shame, she buried her face in Birgitte's shoulder and cried.

* * *

Faile's fingers flickered along the edges of a garland of flowers that Rolan had made for her. When she had first been captured, running naked in the snow and freezing to her bones, accosted by Nadric – all she could think about was Perrin. He would come to get her, her wolf, come angry and furious, so beautifully angry. But now the only name that filled her thoughts was Rolan.

His eyes filled her vision as she slept, watching her, smiling at her as he badgered her about Aiel kissing games. He had offered to take her home with him, to the Waste that he called the Three-Fold-Land. Even when he wasn't talking to her, he found excuses, ways to be near her as she carried out her duties as _gai'shain _to Sevanna. She remembered vividly the thought of his angry eyes when he had seen how fiercely she had been punished, his gentle hands on her shoulders as he met her eyes and spoke to her of his homeland, how much she would love it there, while his eyes said _I love you, come with me. _

And, more and more, she found, that she didn't want to. It got harder and harder to resist his advances, harder to avoid looking into his captivating eyes that spoke more eloquently than her wolfish husband ever could of love and devotion deep beyond anything that Faile had ever encountered. And it was that boundless love that threatened to sweep her off her feet, wipe away all common sense and follow him wherever he led, no matter what she left behind: titles, parents, husband.

"Faile?" It was him, his familiar voice sending a shiver down Faile's spine. Swiftly she tucked the garland away.

"Yes," she said, making her tone cold and indifferent with some difficulty.

"You sound upset," he commented. "Perhaps a kissing game would ease your nerves?"

Despite herself, she laughed. One thing you could say for him was that he was persistent. "All right," she said at last. "We can play one kissing game, I suppose." _It can't hurt, _she thought. _I still love Perrin. He's still my husband, my only husband. My love. Isn't he?_

But somehow she was not convinced, especially when she met Rolan's eyes and remembered just how handsome the big _Mera'din _was in broad daylight.


	3. Hugs and Kisses

_A/N: Because you all love me so much. Another chapter. I really don't own Wheel of Time. Do I need to keep reminding you? Give me a review if you love me. Or if you don't._

…

_This chapter, the craziness continues with:_

_Mat/Min (I wrote this is Algebra today, for those who care. Rather on the long side.)_

_Elayne/Mat (So we can all love our dear gambler more that he needs to be loved. Not that he's lacking, or anything. In love, I mean. Never mind. Even on the longer side. After the gholam attacks her._

_Well, I think it's cute.)_

_Rand/Egwene (I know it's not crazy, but you know, nobody ever writes it, or anything. So I can do it if I bloody well want to. So there.)_

Mat had a problem.

Well, actually he had several problems. Most of them stemmed from one of three things: the bloody Horn of Valere, bloody Aes Sedai (and especially Moiraine), and the bloody Shadar Logoth dagger. And now, as if that wasn't enough, Rand the bloody Dragon Reborn saw fit to get almost killed, and had saddled him with a moody, curious, lovestruck Elmindreda Farshaw.

Every time he turned around, there she was, watching him acutely. Light! He wondered what Egwene had told her about him. Why he even cared what she thought, he didn't know, but he did know that she was beginning to get on his nerves. At any rate, the watching was bad enough, but then she had to start _talking _to him. No, not talking, Mat amended. Interrogating. Asking him question after question about Rand – what was he like growing up? Did Matrim _bloody _Cauthon know how he was healing? As if he would know. As if he went near the man! He was the bloody Dragon Reborn, for Light's sake! Blood and bloody ashes, the woman was mad – falling for a man like that took less sense than even he managed to have. He answered the other questions warily at best, usually with little more than a shrug and a noncommittal mutter. You never knew what secrets a woman could dig out with a well placed questions, and he didn't want Min knowing any more about him (or Rand, for that matter) than she had to.

Standing on the cliff at Falme and chucking rocks out at the choppy water, he found his thoughts, as they often did, wandering to home, wondering how his da and sisters were doing. Bode would be nearly nineteen by now, maybe thinking about marrying. He threw his last rock and turned away, only to find himself face to face with Min, watching him boldly.

He scowled and attempted to walk around her. Then he noticed that her face was streaked with what looked like tears, and her eyes were fearful. He froze like a deer in the hunter's sight. When a woman approached you looking anything less than the picture of calm, it was rarely good for your health. He attempted to edge away, but resistance, it appeared, was futile. "I think he's going to die," she said in a calm voice that trembled only slightly. Mat admired her self-control. Or would have, were he not looking for a way out of his current situation. "What will I do if he dies? What will _we _do?" She looked up at him through long, dark eyelashes, and Mat couldn't break her gaze.

"Blood and bloody ashes, answer me, Mat!" she yelled when he was silent, he voice rising a few octaves. Then she threw herself at him, pounding on his chest with furious fists and taking gasping, wet breaths.

She was clearly hysterical, and Mat knew of only two cures for hysteria: a slap or a kiss. The first was out of the question, so he decided to attempt the second. He hesitated a moment when he remembered that Min was probably, at least somewhat, Rand's girl, but a particularly well placed blow punched the air out of his lungs, and he decided to temporarily forget that.

He seized her by the temples, bent his head, and kissed her as hard as he dared, full on the lips.

She was frozen for several moments. Then she planted her hands against his chest and pushed him back, so hard that he stumbled and almost fell. He braced himself for a slap at best, but she just stared at him with wide eyes. _Beautiful eyes,_ he realized. Why had he never noticed that before? Then she turned and fled as silently as she had come.

Mat stared after her, and found himself remembering, no, _relishing, _the feeling of her lips on his, and wishing that he could hold her again, arms around her slender waist, feeling the touch of her moon-soft skin on his face, her eyes meeting his with a peculiar, delightful tenderness.

* * *

AsElayne turned away, holding an aching head that she hoped Nynaeve could Heal, Mat sized her arm, pulling her around to face him. "Are you all right?" He asked in a tight voice, and for once did not add all that about delivering her to Rand in one piece.

She looked at him, surprised. "I'm fine," she started to say, but his face was so tired and tight, _worried, _that for once she decided that he deserved an honest, compete answer. "My head hurts, but it's nothing Nynaeve can't fix. And you?" She added, suddenly concerned herself. More than worry could tighten a man's face. She glided to him, seizing his head in both her hands. She gathered the flows for Delving and Healing, what little skill she had, but he pulled her hands away, even as she belatedly remembered his _ter'angreal. _He cleared his throat awkwardly and released her hands even before she realized that he was still holding them. "No thanks, ah, …Lady. I'm fine." She laughed. "Lady" sounded odder in his voice that profanity would have in Nynaeve's.

"Elayne, Mat," she said. "Don't hurt yourself for my sake." He flushed hotly, and she smiled brightly, suppressing another laugh. "I'm fine, Mat," she added as he opened his mouth again. "Don't worry about me."

He breathed a small, barely audible sigh of relief. "Good," he said. "I don't want Rand to skin me, and he would if you got damaged at all."

Elayne couldn't help laughing again. His pause made it clear that Rand was not the only one who would care if she was hurt, though he would never admit it. "Oh, Matrim Cauthon," she said. "You are a dear, you know that?" His look of perplexity made her giggle briefly, and she threw her arms around his waist, pulling him close and leaning her head against his chest. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, her mouth opening, but whatever she had been about to say was swept away by the strange look in his eyes. It was not a leer or even an interest, just sort of an awareness, a realization that he was holding a pretty woman. Suddenly she was very aware of his body against hers, the quiver of his skin, the tension of his muscles, every point where their bodies touched. And suddenly, too, she became aware that Mat really was very handsome.

Awkward silence descended, and she sprang away, releasing him with just a touch of reluctance. Hands went to her skirts, smoothing, arranging, and not a moment too soon. Nynaeve poked her head in, looking suspiciously between Elayne's flushed face and Mat's fidgeting feet. "Are you coming, or are you just going to stand here all day?" Her voice held a hint of question – _what are you doing? – _that Elayne refused to answer. Her chin went up, and she became every inch the Daughter-Heir.

"I'll be there in a moment, Nynaeve. Matrim and I are discussing…matters of import." Nynaeve looked at her suspiciously, and shook a finger at Mat, but she retreated. As soon as she was gone, they both muttered "Sorry," and flushed identical blushes. She laughed, and he flushed more deeply, muttering something under his breath, too quietly for her to hear.

"I'd better go," she said at last in the silence that followed. "Nynaeve will be wondering." She stood up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. Her laughter sounded silvery in her own ears. "Goodbye, Mat."

The absolute perplexity on Mat's face was definitely worth the interrogation she would receive from Nynaeve. That, and the remembrance of his body on hers, at once exciting and comforting. Light, what a thought! Mat was a scoundrel, an absolute rascal. She couldn't get involved with him! And what about Rand?

_Well, what about him? _Said a small, guilty voice. _He's far away. He'd never have to know._

Elayne jumped away from that thought as if she'd been goosed. Light, the man put her thoughts in a tangle. "Bloody Matrim Cauthon," she muttered. "Him and his bloody _ter'angreal." _As soon as she got away from him, surely she would forget all about the whole embarrassing incident.

Unfortunately, it didn't quite work that way.

* * *

Rand dove beneath the surface, the cool water soothing on heat-warmed, cracked skin. The water flowed over him, a smooth, quiet touch. A mother's touch. When he burst above the water, gasping for air and shaking the water from his shaggy red hair, he blinked his eyes at the blurry figure standing at the edge of the pond. He rubbed his eyes, and recognized dark, wavy hair and big, liquid eyes. Egwene. Then he remembered that he was entirely naked, and he sank beneath the water swiftly, huddling in the water as far from shore as he could go without going into the thick reeds. He flushed to his ears. "Light, Egwene, what are you doing here!" he exclaimed, trying to cover his embarrassment. Her smile grew wider, and he knew that he had not been successful. Egwene always loved to tease him.

"Watching," she said. "I was going to go for a swim, but it seems that my spot has been taken. If you don't mind, though, I might join you anyway…" Her hands went to the buttons at the back of her dress, and Rand flushed again.

"Light, Egwene! If Nynaeve heard you talking like – please, just go away so I can get changed. Or at least turn your back." He realized that Egwene was laughing at him opening, hooting, really. She had never really intended to remove her dress. Of course. He blushed again, but this time it was in embarrassment as his own gullibility.

The water was really quite cold, Rand realized. And the sun was sinking swiftly. And Egwene was sitting on his clothing, watching him intently and showing no inclination to move. "Egwene," he said in a pained voice. "You're sitting on my clothes."

"That seems to be true," she said, as cool as a cucumber.

He cleared his throat. "I need to get out of here. It's kind of cold. And I need to go home."

"Well, I suppose you should get out then, shouldn't you?" Egwene's face was innocence itself. He stared at her, and coughed.

"I'm…not wearing anything."

"What's the matter with that?" she asked archly. He flushed.

"Light, Egwene! It wouldn't be decent! I mean – well, I know we're practically promised, and everything, but you don't even have your hair braided, and we're not _married…_" he trailed off into awkward silence. Her smile had grown wider with every word. "Turn your back, at least," he huffed ineffectually. She ignored him, and simply sat there, waiting. He stared at her. "I'll just come out in nothing but my skin," he threatened. She simply shrugged her shoulders, and somehow he was sure that nothing would suit her purposes better. Light! Women. He wished Mat was here. Then again, maybe not. Mat would probably just laugh.

The sun dipped from afternoon to evening, and Egwene refused to move. Rand started shivering, and began swimming again, trying to keep warm. Suddenly, he looked up at the shoreline, and Egwene was gone, his clothes folded in a neat pile on the bank where he'd left them. Swiftly he swam to the bank and pulled on his clothes while he was still dripping wet. He didn't want to risk her coming back and trapping him here. She would probably keep him here all night! As he gathered his other things, Egwene stepped out of the bushes, grinning from ear to ear. "Hello, Rand."

He nearly jumped out of his skin and wheeled on her. He stammered something about having to be home, and, flushing to his ears, began to walk away. Light, she probably hadn't even left! She'd probably hidden in the reeds the whole time, just watching him dress. She had no decency. Egwene called after him in a silvery voice. "Wait, Rand! Don't you want to watch me swim?" He turned to respond, and his mouth fell open. Her dress was already halfway off, and she smiled at his poleaxed expression. Resolutely, he turned his back and sped up his step. No decency? Light, less than none!

Egwene's laughter trailed after him, and he did not look back until he was all the way home. That night, he had some very interesting dreams.


	4. Face Your Fears

_A/N: Do I need to say it?_

_Fine._

_Don't own Wheel of Time._

_The crazyness ensues with:_

_Mat/Moiraine (Moirat? Matraine?)_

_Minviendha (in honor of my lj name)_

_Mesaana/Semirhage (I'm a little nervous about this one – first time writing from a Forsaken's pov. Not really love, but _interesting…_I like it._

_Love y'all._

Mat was dancing.

He had always liked to dance – few things mad him happier than having a pretty girl on the dance floor – but here, farther from Emond's Field than he'd ever been, it felt especially exciting. More exotic, more wild, more…_dangerous. _

The dance he spun to now was one he recognized, if one that was altered slightly. Girl after girl passed through his arms and spun away to a new partner. The lady he danced with now, however, was more lovely than the others, with shining dark hair and bright eyes, if a bit small for his taste. She was also a remarkably good dancer, feet flickering so nimbly through the steps so that he nearly stumbled trying to keep up, more than once. She had a lovely smile, and instead of giving her up after one dance, he continued with her until the music stopped.

"You dance very well," he said, bowing as best he could and kissing her hand. She laughed, a delighted sound.

"You as well," she said. He slipped an arm around her waist and bent his head for a kiss – she was very pretty, after all – but then he recognized the ageless features of a familiar face that he hadn't registered till now. He jerked upright.

"_Moiraine? _I was dancing with _you_?" _Might as well dance with a Trolloc, _he added to himself.

"Were you going to kiss me, Matrim?" she said, her eyes dancing. She glanced over her shoulder, looking for Lan, no doubt. "Well, why not?" And just like that, she had a fistful of his hair and had pulled his head down, planting a kiss on his lips. Light, the woman was a good kisser! If she weren't Aes Sedai…but she was, and he had to remember it. As soon as she released him, he stepped away from her, looking for an escape. Moiraine was laughing again. She had such a lovely laugh. Mat wondered why she didn't show it off more often. "You are very pretty, Matrim Cauthon," she said. "I would watch my back around Greens if I were you. They'll snap up a handsome young man like you right away."

"Don't worry, Moiraine Sedai," he said, clearing his throat and already backing away. "I aim to stay as far from Aes Sedai as possible." _Burn me, I do! _"Excuse me," he said quickly, before she could open her mouth again. "I think I hear Rand calling me." As quickly as he could, he slipped away from Moiraine. "A pretty woman," he muttered. _And Aes Sedai, _he reminding himself. _Burn me, I'm not going to be tangled in any Aes Sedai nets! _

But somehow he had a feeling that he already was.

* * *

Drunkas a drowned mouse, Brigitte had said. Well, Min thought she was about there, now. And certainly drunk enough to take her clothes off and dance on the table. She'd only had a cup or two of that _oosquai _stuff, but it hit like a kick in the gut. Suddenly Min was sure that she was bold enough to do anything – even to walk up to Rand and ask him to bed her. Just thinking about him made her aware of that roaring furnace in the back of her head. _Light! _Swiftly she gulped another swig of _oosquai, _gasping as it hit her stomach. Suddenly she was so dizzy she could only focus on staying upright. Dimly she heard herself giggling uncontrollably.

Birgitte seemed to have no such trouble. She was on her fifth cup already, and the only sign of it was a slight glaze over her eyes. Aviendha was watching her with keen interest, sipping her _oosquai _in a dignified manner. Min moved over to sit next to her, swaying a little. Aviendha was quite pretty, she supposed. She plopped herself down next to the woman and lifted a strand of her hair. Aviendha stiffened slightly. "You have hair like Rand," she said, slurring a little. "Do you know how much I wanted hair like that when I was little?"

Aviendha stared at her, delicately removing her hair from Min's fingers. "What are you doing, Min Farshaw?" she asked, a little coldly.

"Min, please," she said. "I'm getting to know…what is it? Near sister?"

Aviendha grunted. "You wetlanders have…interesting ways of becoming familiar with each other." Min laughed.

"I don't act like this usually," she informed the Aiel woman. "I'm drunk. _Really _drunk. That _oosquai _stuff is good."

"I suppose it is," said Aviendha, taking another small sip of the drink. Far too small.

"You won't get drunk like that," Min scolded her. "You have to gulp it, like…so." She tossed back the glass and gulped it down. Her vision went double, and she almost fell over, even sitting down. "Here." She shoved a filled glass at Aviendha. "Drink it. The whole thing at once, mind you. Haven't you been drunk before?"

"No," said Aviendha. "Not since I was a Maiden. The Wise Ones…disapprove of such things." Min was sure that "disapprove" was mild.

"Try it," she told her. "It's fun." She drank another gulp of _oosquai, _just to show Aviendha, and her head spun. Fireworks crackled behind her eyes. Aviendha drank the cup Min and shoved on her, and her eyes widened slightly. That was all. Widened! Slightly! It was just not fair.

Min found herself eying Aviendha. Quite pretty, indeed. Her lips were full, just begging to be kissed, her legs pale and slender, and so long. She leaned in closer, resting her head on the woman's shoulder. "Kiss me," she said, pursing her lips and looking up through her eyelashes.

Aviendha's eyes flashed bright green, and she stared. "Have you gone mad, Min Farshaw? We are not sister-wives yet."

"I'm curious," Min mumbled, feeling a bit fuzzy headed. "You have nice lips, Avi – can I call you Avi? – and I want to know what they feel like."

Aviendha only stared at her. "I,"

"Well, good," said Min, and wrapped her arms around Aviendha, kissing her firmly on the lips.

Min came up spluttering, water dripping from hair plastered to her forehead. A glass emptied of the water it had held only a moment ago drifted down to the tabletop on invisible flows of Air. Suddenly her head was very clear, and she moaned, putting her head in her hands. Aviendha was standing, hands on her hips. Surprisingly, she did not look altogether displeased. "Have you come to your senses, Min Farshaw? I will not have a girl with addled wits for a sister-wife."

Min flushed. "Yes, I'm fine, now. I'm very sorry. I don't know what got into me."

Aviendha smiled and brushed a strand of damp hair back from Min's face. "I do. _Oosquai _does strange things to those unused to its punch. The first time I drank it, I demanded to be taken _gai'shain _because one of my spear-sisters knives touched me while we ate." Min blinked, suspecting she was supposed to laugh.

"What?"

"Never you mind," Aviendha sighed. "Suffice it to say that I understand. Why do you think I wasn't drinking much?"

"I thought," Min started to say, then stopped. She couldn't very well tell the woman that she had thought it was because she was as prim as an Aes Sedai.

"You should be feeling a headache right now," Aviendha continued. "Should I find Nynaeve to give you something?"

Min remembered Nynaeve's lectures to Mat on the evils of drinking, and shuddered. Anything Nynaeve gave her would likely be worse than the headache. "No thanks," she said quickly. "I'll be fine." Light, but her head was pounding. Almost hard enough to drown out the furnace that was Rand. Almost. She flushed. "I think I'll go lie down and die," she moaned.

Aviendha laughed. _Bloody Aiel humor! _"Let me help you there, Min," she said. "I will not have you embarrass yourself by falling down halfway there." Min sighed, but did not resist Aviendha's supporting arm. Her knees were pathetically wobbly, and it would not be good to fall down in the middle of the palace. Probably face first, right in front of the Maidens, too. Or Rand. "Bloody _oosquai,_" she muttered.

But as she hobbled back to her room, trying to ignore the bundle of sensations in the back of her head, she found herself remembering the feel of Aviendha's lips, and relishing the feel of the other woman's arm around her waist

* * *

Thelast two gateways winked out of existence, and Mesaana found herself alone, with the one person she was truly afraid of. Dressed in unrelieved black, as usual, Semirhage's embroidery was open on her lap as she stitched, lounging in her chair, watching Mesaana. The latter shifted, wishing she had something to do. Like a book to read, or at least a piece of black parchment. Somewhere else to look than at those cold, dark eyes. Considering. Weighing. Measuring. Mesaana nearly shivered. She gathered the flows for a gateway of her own, and was frozen by a single word that crackled in suddenly cold air.

"Stop."

Mesaana froze and turned. Slowly, taking the time to compose her face. Panic fluttered in her belly and was ruthlessly squashed. "What is it, Semirhage? Do you think to prevent me leaving?" Mesaana wished she could snatch the words back as quickly as she said them. _Foolish! _A smile flickered at the corner of mirthless lips.

"No. I only wished to speak with you, and now seemed…the opportune moment." Skillful fingers wove the need into the cloth as Semirhage set the piece aside and rose. Mesaana wondered idly if the other woman like needlework because she imagined the cloth screaming with every jab of the needle. Semirhage glided across the floor to Mesaana, a tall, icy shadow robed in black. "You have been avoiding me, Mesaana. I wish to know why." The dark woman's hand on her wrist made Mesaana flinch. Semirhage laughed softly, and Mesaana's pulse jumped wildly under the tall Chosen's fingertips. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves.

"Why would I avoid you? I assure you I have not done so intentionally." Calm, cool, collected. That was the key. Of which she felt none.

Semirhage's nail trailed down her chin, a light tingle that hardened into pain. Mesaana's lips parted slightly, he head tilting back to escape that touched. Semirhage's eyes were half closed, drinking Mesaana's pain, exulting in it. "No because…you are afraid of me, certainly." That was half a question, and Messaana bristled and stiffened.

The touch shifted to claws, fingernails raking down her neck. She shuddered but kept her voice icily calm as she spoke. "How dare you suggest such a thing! I fear nothing!" Well, not calm. But angry. Not defensive.

The claws on her neck became a grip, pulling her close. Lips fastened on hers, nails clawing at shoulders. A sharp pain, and the taste of coppery blood in her mouth. Semirhage's gleaming white teeth, stained just slightly with blood. Mesaana's heart beat wildly, erratically. "Semirhage," she whispered, and felt sickened at the pleading in her voice. The closeness of the other woman, and the small red stain on white teeth, kept her from saying more. Semirhage was smiling.

"Sometimes, Mesaana," she said softly. "It is good to face your fears." She stepped back, wove a gateway, and stepped through. It snapped closed, and Mesaana breathed again.

It was over.

Then why did her heart beat so wildly. Why did she feel a rising sense of panic?

The lingering taste of blood turned her thoughts bitter as she wove her own gateway and stepped through. She shivered at the echo of Semirhage's words in her mind. "Sometimes, Mesaana, it is good to face your fears…"


	5. Of Men and Flowers

_A/N: I love you guys so much. So little to write, too much time. Having a party with minor canon pairing this chapter. Plus two extra. Read on for:_

_Logain/Toveine (Loveine? Ha!)_

_Thom/Selucia (wubs to TheZorpisuttle for this one)_

_Alanna/Jahar Narishma (shorter than usual…)_

_Dedicated to my loyal readers, including Otter Seastar, TheZorpisuttle, Shorelle, and Traitors Daughter. Cookies for you! _

Facing Logain was a peculiar experience.

She had faced men who could channel aplenty before…it was not that. It was more like staring at the ghost of Guaire Alsalam – a man who should not be there, should not be as he was, but was there nonetheless. Gentled men, she thought to herself, should stay gentled. Otherwise… otherwise, the possibilities were too horrible to contemplate.

Gabrelle had told Toveine about the overwhelming presence of the man, about the sheer power that you felt from him, but Toveine had hardly believed her. After all, Gabrelle was a Brown, and Browns had some peculiar ideas about the world, and men. Not as peculiar as Greens, of course, but still peculiar. But now, facing him, staring into his eyes, she could understand Gabrelle's sentiment, and was suddenly afraid. She was hardly small, but Logain managed to loom without even trying, somehow. And he was just sitting there, watching her. Studying her with those dark eyes of his. It was enough to make her shiver.

She straightened up, taking every advantage of her height, but it made no difference. The only thing for it was to talk. Maybe that would give her some control over the situation. "You found the orders, and burned them. Why? You know we came here to kill all of you, and you could have seen all of us die. Why didn't you let them have us?" No, it didn't help. In fact, it only made her feel more helpless. Why did every word she said sound so utterly brainless? Drat the man!

Logain was silent for such a long time that she opened her mouth to demand an answer, and snapped it shut just as quickly. She would not _demand _that he respond. She was not a petulant child, and she would not behave like one! She _would _not, no matter how much she felt like one around Logain. Fairness was just not in it. She wished she could want to kill him. But of course, that was impossible. For more than one reason. She just wished he was not necessary to bring Elaida down, so that at least she could give him a good pummeling. But that was the problem – she did not even want to do that. Bloody man. She was really flustered now – she never swore. Something about this man just turned her on her head. She clenched her hands on her skirts. Under the table of course. Not so that he could not see, just because…bloody man! She was doing it again. Toveine realized at last that Logain was speaking, finally. She flushed, realizing she had not been listening to a word, just listening to his voice. It was so sonorous and spellbinding, almost beautiful. But of course, that was ridiculous. She was forgetting who he was, what he was.

Bloody man.

"Excuse me," she said, her face flaming. "I wasn't listening. Please repeat yourself." If the bonds he had put on her were anything like the Warder bond, he must have been feeling all her mortification, but he smiled. Smiled, as if she were a girl-child who had amused him! She resisted the urge to punch him. Calm, cool, and collected. She was Aes Sedai. If only she didn't feel so much like she was still a novice. Suddenly it occurred to her what else he might have felt while she was sitting there like a fool girl, just listening to his voice, and she flushed all over again. Blood and bloody ashes! If Mistress Doreel heard her now, she would wash her mouth out with soap. If only that didn't make her cheeks flame as they did. Hopefully Logain mistook it for anger.

"I saw no reason to have you killed for orders that you had no control over," said Logain. "Besides, I don't think that the Dragon would be altogether pleased if we killed the lot of you. Taim is a bit…overenthusiastic as it is." There was just a touch of scorn in his voice when he spoke of Taim. "Also," he said, and something… warm… flooded her sense of him, "I don't particularly approve of killing women I have bonded. Gabrelle…and you, of course…are a pleasure to have around."

When Toveine realized what the warmth she was feeling was, she flushed more hotly than before, and felt a sudden urge to slap Gabrelle. That hussy! Not that she was jealous, of course. Gabrelle was attractive, certainly, but Toveine had no desire to have _that bloody man _in her bed. Even if he had nice shoulders, and a pretty voice, and dark eyes that you could fall into. As soon sleep with a viper. A very attractive viper.

Bloody, _bloody _man.

* * *

Thom had a feeling that it was going to be one of those days. 

First, Valan Luca was being more of an insufferable, pompous ass than usual. Second, all the women were glaring at each other like four strange cats stuffed into a sack. And at Mat, who was pretending to ignore them. It probably had something to do with the stony expressions of Joline's two Warders. And all that racket from the women's tent last night. He wanted to ask Mat about it, but the way the day was going, all that would get him was his own boots shoved down his throat. When he shot a smile at Latelle, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. He scowled. Definitely one of those days. It would be just his luck if Selucia appeared and started interrogating him about Mat again.

He glanced over his shoulder and groaned, "Speak of the Dark One, and draw his attention to you," he muttered, stopping and turning around. She would catch up eventually, no matter how fast he walked.

"What was that, Master Merillin?" she said, bearing down on him. He understood now how rabbits felt while watching the hawk swoop down on them.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just talking to myself. I'm rather tired this morning. Actually, I was just going to take a nap, if you'll excuse me." He bowed, and tried to move backwards, but she moved like a Myrdraal to cut him off. He stopped. It had been worth a try.

"Don't think you can slip away," she admonished him, shaking her finger in his face. "I have questions, and I expect answers."

"Why would I ever refuse to answer the questions of a such a lovely woman?" Thom said, and gave her his best smile. She blinked, looking poleaxed in a most satisfactory way. Only for a moment, but it was something. If he could keep her on her toes long enough, he might avoid today's interrogation.

She poked him viciously in the chest. "I am not going to be put off by flattery, Thom Merillin."

"Not flattery, dear mistress," Thom said. "Only the truth."

"If it was the truth, you wouldn't speak in such flowery terms," challenged Selucia, but her eyes softened slightly. Now her eyes were merely ice, rather than agate. Thom found himself smiling. He hadn't bantered like this with a woman since Morgase. In many ways, Selucia seemed to remind him of that particular woman.

He produced a flower, only slightly bedraggled from its time up his sleeve. "Speaking of flowers," he said, winking, "A lovely gem I found. Though it pales beside your beauty, of course. And as for the other…why, nothing except the most lovely, the most exquisite of terms could describe your perfect beauty." Yes, her eyes were certainly softening all right.

"Ridiculous," she snorted, but she took the flower and sniffed it briefly before tucking it away. And the snort was not quite so vehement as it might have been.

"Well," he said, sighing. "Enough talk of your boundless charms. What were your questions, again?"

She looked at him, a smile quirking the corners of her lips. "Thom Merillin, you are too clever for your own good," she said at last, but she did not sound angry. "I think that the questions can wait. I would like to hear more about my… "boundless charms," was it? You have a very pretty tongue, Thom. Much prettier than you are, at any rate."

Thom grinned inwardly. "Inner beauty can be quite as lovely as the beauty of the flesh," he said sagely, and Selucia laughed, hooking her arm in his. Laughing, her eyes softened to the blue of the sky, dancing as she examined him from head to toe.

"Of course, Master Merillin. Of course. Speak to me more of my many charms – I like listening to you talk. You have a pretty way with words."

Thom drew a deep breath and began to speak, thankful for all his experience with melodrama. Women were fond of melodrama – at least, the ones he had met. However, he had a sinking feeling that he was in more danger now than he had been before – and more deeply trapped, as well.

And strangely enough, he didn't mind all that much.

* * *

Alanna was considering Jahar.

He was sitting there watching her, completely composed, and considering her as intently as she considered him. She might have been afraid of him once, but he was too pretty to be scared of. And she was used to the idea of men channeling now. Well, nearly. Big dark eyes made him look younger than he was, and the bells in his hair jingled when he moved his head. She was sitting less than five feet from a man who could channel, and not only was she almost completely unafraid, but she had asked him to be her Warder. Of course, she had Rand, but that was not the same –the bloody man hardly even looked at her, let alone talked to her. Besides, he was quite handsome, and Alanna had an eye for men.

"Merise has already asked me," he said at last. "I think I will accept her offer." Alanna's temper flared.

"Merise _asked _you? She knew I had my eyes on you! And still she dares to –" She cut off, realizing that Jahar was smiling, his pretty dark eyes dancing. Come to think of it, he was not all that handsome. Pretty was more the word. Feminine, even. Light, but she was acting like a fool.

"Though," he said when she fell silent, "It is nice to have such a lovely lady so afire over me." His hand on her chin lifted her eyes up, meeting his. She drank in his gaze, a thirsty flower to the sun. His smile made her heart beat faster. She had to resist the urge to smile back. "I will think on your offer, Alanna Mosvani," he said at last, releasing her and bowing gracefully, kissing her hand. Everything he did was graceful. A leopard – dangerous, and beautiful.

When he left the room, Alanna was left staring after him, pressing the hand he had kissed to her cheek and feeling more like a flipskirt than she had in years.


	6. Teases and Touches

_A/N: Finally! I feel like it's been forever…now, the next chapter, but first, some updates. OFFICIALLY, you may post pairing ideas in a review. I may/may not take them, but still go ahead and suggest. Also, informing all those hopefuls out there – rarely, if ever, will I do male/male slash. I just don't write it well. Or explicit sex scenes. Or much implicit sex scenes. I prefer cuteness, mostly._

_Now, the pairings, and summaries of what will happen._

_Graendal X Rahvin: Graendal discovers that manipulation can have some very pleasant results. The most sexual of my triumvirate this chapter._

_Nynaeve X Berelain: Showdowns and sexual tension. Nynaeve has some very happy dreams._

_Perrin X Min: Min is cute (as per usual). Perrin is worried (also as per usual). Creates interesting possibilities._

Graendal was discussing some interesting matters with Rahvin. Her favorite streith gown shimmered a pale pink that was barely opaque as she watched Rahvin's eyes. Right now they were fixed on hers, watching her avidly, the image of concentration and business, but every so often his eyes would flicker downward, lingering on her exposed bosom. She allowed herself a smile. Rahvin was clever in his own way, but he had nothing on her…and he was refreshingly simple compared to the Chosen she had been dealing with lately. She leaned forward, resting her hand lightly on his leg. He started as though surprised out of sleep – or a daydream. Quickly he composed his features, glancing at her to see if she had noticed his slip. She continued as if she had not.

"Sammael believes that I am allied with him, but I have no such plans. Why should we not make our own plans to crush al'Thor…together, surely we could triumph, and be held exalted over the rest?" Her voice was low, husky, seductive. It suggested much more than a simple business arrangement.

Rahvin lifted an eyebrow at her, smiling slightly. "There will be one Nae'blis, as I know very well, and you know also. I am not so easily supped by a pretty woman as I once was."

She laughed, a pretty, tinkly sound. She was rather proud of the laugh. It was so … innocent. So unlike her. But it fooled a surprising amount of people. "Who said anything about Nae'blis?" The Chosen have always manipulated those who appear to be in power. Why should this be any different. Besides, I'm not suggesting anything permanent. Just a sort of…temporary truce. She moved her hand to his arm, and felt his muscles tense.

"I am not one of your pretties for you to toy with, Graendal," Rahvin snapped. "Watch yourself. Don't try anything…dangerous."

"Me? Toy with you? Make no mistake, Rahvin, I know just how dangerous you are." She smiled, a pacifying gesture. "I will do nothing I will regret later." She did not remove her hand. Playing with Rahvin was like playing with a snake on a forked stick – contained for the moment, but if you took you eye off it for a moment it would be off the stick with its teeth in your ankle. Graendal had never liked snakes. He was holding _saidin, _no doubt, but she refused to embrace the Source. He was baiting her, and when one sensed a trap, it was often best to behave as if one did not. She laughed again, girlishly. Foolishly. "Oh no, Rahvin. I would never mistake you for one of mine." Let him take that how he would.

He leaned back, smiling, but it was visibly false. He was offended. Graendal schooled her face to stillness, suppressing a surge of exultant triumph. He had bit on her bait. She was playing him like a flute, and he had no idea. And never would. "What do I lack, that it's absence prevents me from the having the honor of resembling one of your playthings?" Graendal felt proud of Rahvin's effort. He almost kept the edge out of his voice. Almost.

"Well, I prefer them a little younger," Graendal responded, taking a sip from her wine. It was lukewarm and unpleasantly tart, but she resisted the urge to spit it out. Swallowing, she continued. "But I do like to get the…full measure…of a man before I decide whether or not he is worthy." Glancing up at Rahvin through her eyelashes, she assumed a sultry pose with practiced ease, even her feet, crossed at the ankles, communicating an interest that was at once demure and very not.

Rahvin stood suddenly, his dark eyes burning with intense heat. "An interesting proposition." He said smoothly. "I accept." He bowed and kissed her hand, then her neck. She giggled brainlessly, her heart pumping faster. Even if Rahvin was not her type, he was still handsome. A man to make a woman's blood race.

"I do not know what proposition you mean, Rahvin."

"Your offer," he breathed while nibbling on her ear, "Of love." Suddenly his lips were on hers, his arms sweeping her off her feet. She surrendered to the passions of her body, to his kisses as he tore at the laces of her dress.

Manipulation, Graendal mused later, could have very pleasant results.

* * *

Something about the First of Mayene bugged Nynaeve immensely.

Maybe it was the way she walked down the halls half-naked, seducing married men.

Maybe it was her cool arrogance that reminded Nynaeve remarkably of Moiraine.

Maybe it was the way she was staring down her nose at Nynaeve right now.

But she had an uncomfortable feeling that it was something else.

She had caught Berelain trying to sneak into Perrin's room wearing a gown that could not be called opaque, and little else, and Nynaeve was angry. The way she saw it, she was personally responsible for those boys, and she was determined to protect their innocence. Sweet, gentle Perrin was certainly no match for the wily charms of a chit like Berelain, even if that overprotective, hawk-nosed girl did not carve him up for dog meat first. "You are not entering his rooms," Nynaeve had said sharply, ready for a fight, and Berelain's eyebrows and chin shot up in an expression that would do Elayne proud. And…nothing. She just stood there with an expression that should have frozen air. It was beginning to make Nynaeve nervous. "Say something!" she demanded at last.

"Why? You have told me what I will not do, and I disagree. So I am simply standing here until one of us gives up. It will not be me, so that leaves you."

"If you think I will just stand aside and let you dupe poor Perrin into your dress, you are very wrong," spluttered Nynaeve.

"Watch how you speak to your betters, child," said Berelain coldly.

"Child?" yelled Nynaeve. "Better? You? You are not better than me. You walking down the halls with half your bosom exposed and tripping every living man into your bed. And you call yourself better? Ha!"

Berelain's icy calm shattered. "You know nothing!" she snapped. "Ignorant village girl, you know nothing of the world! Do not speak to me so until you know more and until you grow out of your childish fantasies."

"Please enlighten me," Nynaeve snapped right back. "Since you are so old and wise."

"I do not waste my breath educating fools," Berelain sniffed coldly, turning to go.

"Fool, am I?" demanded Nynaeve. "I may not be worldly, but I know some things. I know that it is shameful to steal another woman's man. I know it is disgraceful to walk around in hardly more than your skin. I know-"

"Steal another woman's man?" Beralain interrupted, her voice soft. "Isn't that exactly what you are doing?"

Nynaeve was taken utterly by surprise. He jaw dropped. "How-" she gasped breathlessly.

Berelain laughed, mirthlessly. "I have eyes, woman. Just as I have eyes to see that you are not Aes Sedai. I know some things too, you see. I am not merely a brainless trull." He voice hardened and she trampled mercilessly over Nynaeve's attempts to speak. "Do you think I would have survived, my country would have survived this long if I hadn't used the attributes that were given to me? I am not a fool, whatever you and many others believe. I will not hide what gives me an advantage." She paused, but Nynaeve had no time to form a bitter tasting apology before Berelain continued right over her. "I am a woman. Why should I not be proud? Why should I deny the fact that I am beautiful? That would be worse than stupidity. Haven't you ever used a smile to get men to agree, worn a dress because you know it makes you look attractive? You cannot pretend you have not. We are not so different, you and I, except that I celebrate that I have a body - and you deny it." Berelain cut off, giving Nynaeve a strange look, and she realized that she was staring at Berelain's heaving bosom. She jerked her gaze away quickly, back to Berelain's blazing eyes. She glared at Nynaeve, turned on her heel, and stalked off, swaying even doing that. Nynaeve found herself staring at the woman's hips. Admiring them! She flushed.

Nynaeve let herself into Perrin's rooms and blushed again when she realized they were empty. She strode over to the mirror, examining her reflection. What would she look like in a gown like Berelain's? "Ridiculous," she decided.

"What is ridiculous, Nynaeve?" She jumped. She hadn't heard Perrin approach.

"That woman," she said quickly. "I found Berelain trying to sneak into your rooms." She flinched when Perrin growled. Those yellow eyes of his made the noise eerily wolflike.

"Again," he muttered. "I ought to…"

"I should go," Nynaeve said quickly, hurrying out of the room. As she wandered back to her own rooms, she found herself thinking about Berelain. She was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. Nynaeve found herself smoothing her dress over her hips. A serving man winked at her, and she scowled at him so fiercely that he squeaked, nearly dropping his tray. Stupid boy. She admired Berelain, Nynaeve realized. And more than admired. Light, but it hurt to admit that!

That night, Nynaeve dreamed of lying in her bedchambers, nestled happily in Berelain's arms.

* * *

Perrin was worried about Min.

He was very fond of her, almost unreasonably so. Her smile was infectious, and her quick laugh more so. She may have been a city girl, and somewhat more worldly wise than he, but she still seemed very trusting. Too trusting. There were far too many who would take advantage of that.

And now she was off to that boiling pit of dogs set to rip up her cat – the Tower. He was uneasy about Moiraine's plan to just send Min off, defenseless. He grimaced, picturing her expression if he voiced that thought to her. Or, more likely, her knife. She knew as much about playing with knives as Thom Merillin had. Maybe not so defenseless, after all.

He caught up to Min, seizing her arm lightly, worried he would hurt her if he held it too tight. From the way she winced, rubbing her arm, maybe he had still been too rough. He opened his mouth to apologize, and she snorted, shoving him playfully. "I was _joking_, blacksmith," she laughed. "Please. I won't break. Now, why have you been wandering after me all day like a protective shepherd?"

Perrin flushed. "I have not!" Min flashed him her almost-mocking smile, and he sighed. "All right, maybe a little. But not wandering. I've just been waiting for the right time to talk to you."

"Now that you've passed the denial stage, are you going to tell me what you were doing?" Min asked sweetly.

"Min," Perrin protested. "Stop teasing. I'm serious. I'm worried about you."

"Why are _you _worried about _me?_ You're the one who's off to fight Darkfriends and worse."

"I think Moiraine Sedai is throwing you into a pit of poisonous vipers, Min. You just need…please watch yourself. And if anything seems dangerous, or wrong…come find us. No matter what you have to do, or what Moiraine said, just get out of there. I won't let you hurt yourself for the sake of some obscure Aes Sedai plot."

"You won't _have _me hurt myself?" Min said softly. Her foot was tapping dangerously, and Perrin back pedaled, but she trampled ruthlessly over his attempts to apologize. "You want to protect me, Perrin, you woolheaded blacksmith? I knew how to protect myself when you still thought babies came from cabbage leaves."

"I'm sorry, Min," Perrin mumbled. "It's just…I worry about you."

Suddenly Min was smiling. "You worry about me, Perrin? You don't know how good that is to hear. Just music to a girl's ears." Perrin blinked. Rand understood women, and Mat even more. They'd know what to do. He sighed heavily. Women were impossible, the lot of them.

"I just don't like to see you hurt, that's all," Perrin muttered, sure he was blushing right down to his toes. "You are my friend, after all."

"Oh, Perrin," Min sighed, standing on tiptoes to throw her arms around his neck. "You are a sweet. You may not be as suave as Mat or Rand, but you are infinitely more lovable." She brushed her lips against his cheek. "Someday, a woman will be very lucky to have you as her husband." Laughing, she flashed him another of those smiles and darted away, leaving Perrin smiling dazedly after her, hand pressed to his cheek, and feeling more confused than ever.


	7. Dangerous

_A/N: Phew. Okay, I hope I'm gaining a few readers as I go along, but in the meantime, I'm dedicating this to my faithful readers and favoriters – specially TheZorpisuttle. I love you. And Shorelle. I just read a post where I said I don't go for slash…and basically went "HA!" _

_Someday maybe I'll get around to actually doing something worthwhile, but for now…_

_Back to the crack pairings. _

_Rand/Asmo – Oooh, I was almost too nervous to post this one. A brief anecdote – I'm really scared about this, because there are so many Rand/Asmo fans out there that if it doesn't live up to their expectations they will pounce on me and chew apart my neck. Kind of like writing Lord of the Rings fanfiction. So please – be nice? This is an experiment. Dedicated to Shorelle. Please don't kill me. _

_**Summary: **Asmo pushes the boundaries. Rand discovers just what he can and can't do._

_Perrin/Berelain – this was really fun to write. That's all, really._

_**Summary: **When Perrin walks in on Berelain's bath, he gets an interesting view – and the embarrassment of his life. (Spiff Pairing Name: Perrelain)_

_Elayne/Nynaeve – They are actually really cute. And I loved writing Nynaeve's POV. Fun, fun, fun._

_**Summary: **Bickering has some not-so-subtle undertones._

_By the way, it's snowing. Surprise surprise, non?_

_Okay, enough with the Author's Notes. Review and make someone happy. Have it be your good deed, kay? If you have flames…keep them to yourselves. Anyway, the story._

Rand was in a foul temper.

Books lay strewn on the floor where he had thrown them, the mirror shattered into slivers of glass that crunched under his boots as he paced. Dreary chords echoed from the corner, the dark haired man lounging casually ass he coaxed music from his instrument with skillful fingers.

Rand wheeled on him. "Don't you know anything other than that dirge?" he snapped. "You've been playing it all night."

A half-smile quirked on Asmodean's lips. "Does my music not please my Lord? I merely thought it suited our…mood."

"A little too well," Rand growled. "Play something else. Now."

"As you wish, my Lord Dragon." The chords changed, to a tune Rand recognized, or rather one Lews Therin recognized as he growled vaguely in the back of Rand's head. When Rand realized what he was muttering about, rage boiled up and over. He exploded, seizing _saidin _and sweeping the harp from Asmodean's hand, bending it with flows of Air. The wood creaked precariously. Asmodean was staring at the harp, tense with fear for his beloved instrument.

"You dare?" snarled Rand. "You dare to mock me? I am your only chance for survival - I could throw you to the Forsaken, or the Aes Sedai, without a thought, and they would rip you to pieces before you had an instant to point a finger at me. Do you hear me?" He realized that Asmodean was trying to speak, and fell silent.

"I meant nothing – I was not trying to – please forgive me," Asmodean said, his voice on the edge of calm. "You asked for something lighter, and it was merely the first thing that came to mind – you're going to break it!"

Rand realized that his jaw was tense and that the harp was making ominous noises of protest. He released it, dropping it into the other man's lap. He ignored Asmodean's sigh of relief, stalking over to his bed and dropping onto it, head in his hands. Moments later, soft, soothing music echoed from the corner, but Rand shut it out, breathing deeply, picturing the Flame and the Void.

The stream of sound did not falter, but a voice issued from the corner. "I thought you were going to kill me."

"I should," Rand growled, the Void vanishing as anger returned – anger at Asmodean, at Moiraine, at himself. "Light burn me, I should. You put me in danger, just by keeping you close, and you are hardly useful enough to make it worth the risk. I should let Lanfear have you." Fear flickered across Asmodean's face and was gone. Rand forced his rage down, trying to recollect the Void.

The music faltered and stopped. Rand heard Asmodean move, and was on his feet in an instant. "Don't move," he snarled, on the edge of seizing the Source. Asmodean obeyed, putting his hands up defensively. "Why don't you?" Asmodean said after a slight pause. "I wouldn't have a chance, weakened as I am. I've taught you most of what I can. Go ahead. Kill me. I won't defend myself."

Rand stared at Asmodean, letting _saidin _rage in him. He could crush Asmodean like a fly, burn him to a pile of ashes or less in an instant. The man was dangerous, and still more than half a Forsaken. Having him around was like holding a stunned viper – one that might recover at any time. He was the man's only chance for survival – but still, he trusted Asmodean about as far as he could throw himself. And yet…

And yet he had no desire to. Worse, the very idea was – it felt wrong, somehow. Like killing – not a child, but more like killing Min. Killing a friend. He warred with himself for several moments. His eyes locked on Asmodean's, Asmodean's boring into his mind. He shifted. "No," he said at last. "Killing you would solve nothing, and I think you know more than what you have taught me. At the very least you know things about you former brethren that I will find nowhere else." He turned away, feeling Asmodean's eyes on him, seeing everything that he hadn't said. That he couldn't – not wouldn't, but _couldn't _kill a Forsaken.

"As you wish, My Lord Dragon," he said at last, and the music began again, but Rand could almost see Asmodean's triumphant smile.

* * *

Perrin was angry. 

It had been bad enough when she was just stalking him, but now she seemed even more bent on breaking up his marriage. It had started with the nightgown, a flimsy silk thing, left casually on the floor of his and Faile's bedroom. Faile had demanded to know what it was doing there. He bluffed that he had bought it for her, hardly finishing his sentence before Berelain breezed in and plucked the nightgown away.

"That's mine," she said silkily, with a small curtsy. Her scandalous dress made the gesture positively dangerous. "I'm sorry, I must have left it here." She flashed a smile at him, ignoring Faile's dangerous glare, and breezed back out. Faile shot him a glare and stalked out, her scent full of the stench of betrayal and cold fury.

Then there was the time she had swayed into his room and planted herself on his lap. Before he could push her off, Faile walked in. He scent grew colder and definitely icy. She turned on her heel and stalked off. When he returned to their rooms after dinner, Faile's things were gone.

And now today, when he had held her again for the first time, she had taken a deep breath and frozen, scent flooded with suspicion. "Why," she asked coolly, "Do you smell like Berelain's perfume?" His mouth dropped open. Her slap rang his ears, and when he regained his balance, Faile was gone. He took one sniff of his coat. It stank of Berelain. Exactly as though someone had sprayed it with perfume. Now he was stalking through the halls, fuming. If Berelain had lost him his falcon…she would be as modest as a Two Rivers girl before he had even begun to deal with her.

He threw open her door and marched in – and froze. Half-submerged in a tub of water, dark hair slicked back from her startlingly beautiful face, she looked surprised for the first time. Very surprised, and very naked. He caught a glimpse of long, toned legs and a surprisingly flat abdomen – and a little more – before he shut the door and turned around very determinedly. "What are you doing?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Bathing," said Berelain in that rich, sultry voice of hers. "What does it look like? I might ask what you are doing in my private chambers, hmm?" She laughed, and Perrin's skin prickled. He was reminded of a lioness, listening to her voice. It was a purr, lulling him to indolence before she pounced. But he was determined not to be a deer.

"What were you thinking?" he snarled, his back still turned, and trying to ignore the splashing from behind him. "That stunt you pulled with the perfume may have cost me my wife, and that is a price that you cannot afford." She was laughing again, he realized.

"What perfume?" she said innocently. "I have no idea how my perfume came to be on your clothes. All I can suppose is that…" She trailed off into silvery laughter, and something soft and wet brushed his face.

He whirled around, only to drop his eyes quickly. But not quickly enough. That glimpse of her, standing knee deep in hot, soapy water, was enough. She was a goddess, a lady bathing naked in some distant pool that was hers alone, laughing at the boy so humble before her, flaunting her body as though to say, _I am beautiful, you cannot deny me. _And he was powerless before her. With an effort, he worked moisture back into his mouth.

"I do not want you," he said. "I bloody have a wife, or had one before you flaming drove her away!" He tried to ignore the taste of soap in his mouth. Mistress Luhhan…disapproved…of profanity.

Wet feet hit the floor, and her warm, moist hand cupped his lowered chin. "Look at me, Perrin," she said, her husky voice warm and soft. "Do you dare, or do you fear that if I touch you, if you look at me and meet my eyes, admire my body, that you will give into you desire and forget your humble wife? Look at me, Perrin. Feast you eyes, if you dare." He jerked his head away, refusing to rise to the bait. He looked at her eyes. Only at her eyes.

"You will tell Faile that I have never touched you, or I will speak to Rhuarc about you." The threat had no effect. She turned away, flipping her long, dark, wet hair at him. It smelled faintly of roses. She was humming softly, and when he recognized the tune, he bristled. It was "Wild Goose Chase" about a man chasing a woman who was too good for him.

"If you are busy," he said coldly, "I'll come back later."

"Oh no," said Berelain. "I'm not done with you yet." Her hand caught his shoulder. He tried to pull away, but the grip tightened mercilessly. He winced and turned around slowly, ready to close his eyes at one flash of bare skin. He needn't have worried. A silk robe draped over her shoulders, covering just enough and cinched at the waist. "Deny me," she said softly, her deft hands exploring his face. "And you deny your own self, your own cravings. There is no shame in desire." She pulled him in, kissing him deeply, her warm lips on his. She smiled at him, holding his head tightly between her hands. "And when you are mind, the first thing you will do is shave off that horrid beard." She stepped back, jerking the tie on her robe so it fell open. Perrin gaped for only a second at her boldness before turning around resolutely, cheeks flushing. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to return to my bath. Unless you care to join me?" Her laughter was rich and hungry.

Perrin hurried out, but couldn't rid his mind of the image of Berelain, framed by wings of silk, standing a goddess before him – imposing, captivating, and untouchable. And beautiful. So very perfectly beautiful.

How could he deny that dream of love?

* * *

Nynaeve lay awake, pondering. 

Elayne lay curled up beside her, fast asleep, her lips slightly parted and her hair falling over her delicate face with its slightly upturned nose. It was cold, but Nynaeve knew that she was playing with fire, and could very well get burned. The wagon seat was hard, jostling as it moved along the dirt road, but for once Nynaeve hardly even noticed. Elayne stirred and murmured something in her sleep, shifting so that her head rested on Nynaeve's shoulder. She let her lay there, and pulled off her cloak, draping it over the younger woman. Humming something absently, she let her hand drift up, stroking Elayne's hair, smoothing it, tucking it back. Elayne smiled in her sleep, murmuring a word that she almost made out. _Mama._

Nynaeve winced. Elayne had cried earlier, when she'd heard the rumors about her mother's death. Rumors that were likely true. Cried so that all Nynaeve could do was hold her until the tears failed to come, and feel a deep shame that there was nothing she could do. She was tired now. Sorrow was wearying. Nynaeve scrubbed at her eyes. "Bloody dust," she muttered half-heartedly, and scolded herself for cursing. But that was half-hearted, too. She couldn't concentrate on anything except Elayne, asleep, so peaceful and quiet, distant in a place where Morgase was alive and holding her in her arms. She pulled her hand away from Elayne's pale red hair, but moments later it rose again, of its own accord. Arranging, touching, caressing.

She was so beautiful. So beautiful and so fragile, a naïve creature just learning to face the world around her for the cruel, brutal thing it was. And Nynaeve did not want to let her. She wanted to hold Elayne here, keep her close and safe and unknowing of the dangers that lurked, of fear or hatred or greed. And she feared that impulse, feared its implications. She shied from it, hiding it from view and trying not to think of what it meant.

She could not. Nynaeve did not know how to deal with the well of tangled feeling that arose when she was with Elayne. So she didn't. She masked her confusion with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper, as she always had. Anger was her barrier, her protection from everything frightening and strange. Men, the Power, love. Even love. Especially love. Elayne stripped her defenses away, tied her tongue, confused her thoughts. And she resp0nded the only way she knew how. She bit back. Snapping, driving Elayne back, keeping her at a distance. If Elayne was far away, Nynaeve did not have to think of her. She did not have to face what she felt for the young woman. At a distance, Elayne was not a danger.

Here, so close, she was more terrifying than any evil she had ever faced.

But here, so close, Nynaeve could not push her away.

Elayne's eyes opened, and she yawned, sitting up straight and stretching. "Why is it so bright?" she mumbled.

Nynaeve flinched, then steadied herself. Gathered her anger. Prepared to fight her battle. A battle she was losing, inch by inch, heart by heart. "Because you've been asleep all day, slacking. We're on the move again."

"You could have woken me up."

"Yes," Nynaeve said, caught off guard. "I could have."

"Where are we?"

"We just passed into Ghealdan, as you would know had you been paying the least attention."

"Nynaeve, why didn't you wake me up? Why did you let me sleep all morning?"

Nynaeve did not have an answer. "You were tired," she said at last. "I thought it best…to let you sleep." Elayne's eyes were watching, seeing everything she did not say, did not even admit to herself. Nynaeve looked down. "I'm going to…talk to Birgitte," she said awkwardly, jumping down from the wagon and hurrying off.

So close…more terrifying than any evil Nynaeve had ever face. And she was fighting a losing battle.


	8. Thinking

_A/N. Wheeeeeeeeeeee! _

_I seem to be saying that a lot lately. _

_I forgot the disclaimer. I could come up with something creative and interesting, like…a poem, or a song, or even a haiku. Or something. But I don't feel like it._

_Don't own it. Never have, never will. Deal. _

_You'll have to do with that._

_In this chapter, Perrin rides blue elephants while singing random songs from Spamalot._

_Excuse me, that was a test to see if anyone actually reads these._

_Oh, and if you have an illegal music getting program or something more extensive than iTunes, get Epica's the Score. Thoroughly awesome for Wheel of Time soundtrack. If you want my list of name conversions, PM me and I'll send it to you. But I'm getting off topic again. Meh. _

_Lastly, if you post something on the Pet Pairings forum, it is up for grabs for me to steal and write. Just so you know. Tee. And now:_

_THE PAIRINGS!_

_Mat/Aludra – For all those people who said they love it. This is for you. I think that was…Ersatz, and…maybe just Ersatz. Ha. Not really romance, just a little relationshipshot._

_**Summary: **Stargazing, Mat and Aludra get deep. Aludra says something that sparks an idea, and Mat considers destiny._

_Siuan/Moiraine – Mee hee hee._

_If I made a few factual errors, please let me know. Haven't gotten 'round to reading NS yet._

_**Summary: **Moiraine is leaving, and Siuan is a little worried. _

_Perrin/Egwene – I think it's cute. So there._

_Psh._

_**Summary: **Egwene has some fun messing with Perrin's mind, and he gets a little annoyed._

_These just get longer and longer, don't they?_

_Oh, and friend me if you have an LJ. So I can trawl more people's archives other than Shorelle and TheZorpisuttle's. Predictably, my name is minviendha. Tee._

* * *

Mat lay on his back, staring at the stars. 

Lying there, staring up at the infinity of the heavens above him, Matrim Cauthon felt pensive. It was an unfamiliar feeling. It was not that Mat didn't think, or didn't like to think – just that he didn't like to think too much. Thinking, he had discovered, made more problems than it solved, and often created worry. And that was not something that Mat enjoyed doing.

But Mat was worried now, and he didn't like it.

"What are you thinking about?" The familiar voice brought him up to his elbows, and he looked up into the pretty face of Aludra. Her small, full, lips were pursed in an expression of amusement, her dark hair pulled back in a braid worthy of Nynaeve.

Mat sighed and lowered himself back down. Farewell to silence. Aludra was not going to leave him alone now. "Nothing," he said, just a touch defensively.

"Psh," said Aludra. "Thinking about nothing, it does not usually put that look on anyone's face."

Mat sighed. Somewhere, he had been hoping that that would get rid of her. "Sit down," he said. "You've decided to settle in, so you might as well be comfortable."

Aludra smiled and sat down, then lowered herself to her back. "Well?"

"To tell the truth," Mat said. "I'm thinking about destiny."

"That seems awfully deep, yes?" Aludra said quietly. "Rather atypical of you, it seems.

Mat turned his head and lifted an eyebrow at her. She smiled at him innocently. "Enough with the jabs, please. I was just thinking…thinking."

"You're being evasive."

"I don't think too much, as you said, so it's a little hard to express my thoughts."

Aludra rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'm sorry. Please. I'm feeling a little lonely tonight. Humor me."

"I was thinking about destiny. How powerless we really are. We always think we're going our own way, but really the Wheel is just turning us around and making us do what it wants. It's kind of humbling, being at the mercy of a gigantic wagon wheel."

"That's not quite the idea of the Wheel," Aludra said with a small smile.

Mat glanced at her. "I was being sarcastic." She didn't stop smiling, and it was really starting to get on his nerves. He rolled over and resumed staring at the stars. "I wonder how far it goes?"

"What?"

"The sky. It looks like it goes on forever, on nights like this. Like you could just fly up and up and up and never hit anything. Soaring through the stars in that endless space. Infinity, I guess. But it has to end somewhere, doesn't it? Everything ends, eventually."

"Does it?" said Aludra softly. "We don't know everything. Not you, not I, not even the wisest. Maybe it doesn't end. Maybe someday someone will make something to fly up into the sky, all the way up. Maybe they'll find the end. Or maybe they won't. But we won't ever know, and maybe it's better that way. Mysteries are the life of the world, Matrim. Without a little bit of mystery, we would not have a reason to wake up in the morning, yes?"

Mat stared at her. "Are you turning into a philosopher or something?"

"I just think, sometimes."

"Quite a bit, by the sound of it."

She glanced at him, looking a little annoyed now. "I'm fascinated by the sky. I always have been. Maybe that's why I make fireworks. They bring me closer to the sky, in a way. I suppose in many ways, the sky is like love. Impossible to understand, mysterious, untouchable. You can never really understand what secrets the sky is holding deep in those stars, in the spaces that no one has touched."

Mat nodded, slowly, something growing in his mind, a sense of knowledge almost on the edge of understanding. He reached for it, strained for it, and it was gone, leaving behind only a vague sense of something wonderful that was lost. Aludra got up, her brows furrowed. "I'm going to bed. Try to get some sleep yourself. You look tired." Mat pulled down the hat and ignored her. He heard her footsteps retreating, and let out a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding.

He remembered what Aludra had said, and again felt that groping for a realization on the edge of thought. His thoughts closed on air, finding nothing once again. He closed his eyes, realizing that he was tired. The Wheel was guiding his steps, he thought. Even lying here, even talking with Aludra, he was on a path that would not be altered. But a path to what?

Something impossible to understand. Something mysterious and untouchable. Something like love. In someone like Aludra.

Moiraine paced back and forth, trying to convince her friend that she would be fine. Siuan just sat there, watching her with her chin in her hands, saying nothing and looking extraordinarily pensive. "Siuan," she said tensely. "I'm not a novice any more. The Amyrlin is planning to keep me here forever, and you and I know how important it is that I keep searching! Please, Siuan. All you have to do is pretend you don't have any idea where I've gone. You can say I drugged you or anything, but I'm going, and you can't stop me!"

"I never said I was going to try," said Siuan softly. Moiraine stopped, gaping at her. She snapped her mouth closed, realizing how undignified she would look, and crossed her arms firmly.

"Well," said Moiraine. "Then I guess I should be going."

Siuan laughed. "Oh no," she said. "Let's just find something else to argue about, shall we?" seeing the look on Moiraine's face, she smiled. "I was only joking," she said. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I agree that you should leave as soon as possible. But you need to get packed, first. Unless you were planning on going without a change of clothes?"

Fuming slightly, Moiraine pulled out the saddlebags she had found. Siuan frowned at them for a moment and shook her head. "Too small," she scolded. "If you want to fit more than two dresses in there, apart from food, you're going to need something more…this size." She produced a bag from a closet that was nearly the size of a saddle.

"I had to stand in the stable for hours waiting for everyone to leave so I could steal those!" Moiraine huffed angrily. "And you had that tucked into our closet the whole time? Why didn't you say something!"

"And deprive you of the joy of your dear horse's company? I couldn't be so heartless, Moiraine." When she stared at Siuan, she broke and laughed. "Actually, I'd forgotten I had it. Well, pick some dresses. And try to bring something practical."

"I can be practical when I want to be," muttered Moiraine.

"What's that?" Siuan said, cupping her ear exaggeratedly. "Do I hear the sound of denial?"

Moiraine stuck her tongue out at her friend, ignoring how immature the gesture was.

Digging through her closet, Moiraine managed to find enough divided dresses that she would be fine until she had time to find a dressmaker. She piled them on the bed and let Siuan fold them. "Maybe you'll find a Warder," said Siuan absently. "A tall, handsome man. I can just picture you bossing him around. You'd love that."

Moiraine smiled. "You'd be jealous if I came back with a Warder, and you know it," she said. She knelt beside her friend and picked up a dress, attempting to fold it the way Siuan was. "Don't worry, Siuan. I'm going to be fine."

"I'm not worrying."

"Siuan," said Moiraine in a pained voice. "We've been friends and more than friends for years. I think I can tell when you're worried."

Siuan turned, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. She was taller than Moiraine, even kneeling. "You're just so…impulsive. Oh, not like the Greens who would leap off a cliff without looking to see if there was anything at the bottom – you think more than that, but sometimes you lose your temper, or do silly things that you shouldn't. I just don't know that I should let you wander off on your own without someone to keep you steady."

Moiraine grimaced at that frank description of herself. Siuan was not known for subtlety when it came to telling others what she thought of them. "We've gone over this already. If you and I both go, we'll stand out much more. On my own, I can pass for a Cairhienin noblewoman, but you would complicate matters. Also, who will give me an alibi if you don't? Without you…it'll look like we ran away. If you stay, you can give them a bluff."

"We could tell someone else."

"Who? Sheriam talks too much, and there's not too many others we can trust with something like this. No, Siuan. You stay here. I'm going." She bent down and kissed Siuan's forehead lightly, then her lips. Siuan relaxed against her, leaning into Moiraine's welcoming embrace.

Stroking Moiraine's hair back from her forehead, Siuan smiled at her. "You belong to me, Moiraine Damodred," she said softly, "And don't you forget it."

* * *

The first time Perrin saw Egwene dancing with Aram, he felt a peculiar heat behind his eyes, a tightening in his chest.

At first he convinced himself it was simply protectiveness - Egwene was like a sister. But when it became clear that his clenched fists and tight jaw were due to _jealousy..._that explanation held no water.

His next attempt to rationalize his feelings was on behalf of an absent Rand. But no, it was not Rand's jealousy at watching Egwene dance with another man that tightened his chest, but his own...

And that was a truth that he was not ready to face.

Egwene shirled over to him, laughing, her cheeks flushed. "Perrin, you lump," she laughed, her face alive and bright. "Stop standing here like a stick in the mud. Come and dance." Her arm brushed his, and his skin tingled. For a moment his thought swirled in misty clouds. He shook his head to clear it, then turned it into his response.

"I'm no good at dancing. Don't worry about me, I'm fine. Why don't you go back and kiss pretty boy Aram - I'm sure Rand won't mind." Some of his bitterness must have come through in his voice, for Egwene's smile melted like hot butter.

"Don't bring Rand into this."

"Egwene, you're practically married!"

"I'm not even betrothed to him! And anyway, just because a man takes an interest in me doesn't mean I can ask another to dance!"

Perrin oped his mouth and closed it, realizing that people were staring. Egwene looked at him, fuming, and then continued in a fierce whisper.

You're jealous, Perrin. This isn't about Rand, this is about you. Go on, Perrin. Dance with me. I don't mind."

Perrin stared at her. He wanted to. Lihgt, but he wanted to. And yet...

"You're Rand's girl," he muttered. "I couldn't...I won't..."

Egwene stamped her foot. "I am not! We're not even betrothed yet!"

"I doubt that's how your mother would see it. At any rate, you're being silly, and..."

"I'm being silly?" Egwene said loudly. "_You're _telling_ me _that _I'm _being silly? You...you..." Suddenly Egwene reached up, seized his head by the temples, and kissed him on the lips. His toes curled. _Light, but Rand is lucky,_ he thought a little bitterly, but he pushed her away gently. "Egwene, I can't. It isn't right."

"You weren't talking sense. I'm attempting to cure you. You aren't, so..." She kissed him again. Thought fled. Egwene smiled at him, and whirled away to the familiar puse of the drums. The brush of her hair on his face set his skin to tingling all over again. Across the clearing, Aram was glaring murder.

Strangely enough, Perrin could smile at him. Then he turned and joined the dancing, grinning foolishly all the while.


	9. Everything I'll Never Say

_A/N:A christmas present for all of you. Or some kind of holiday present, to be utterly PC. This chapter is...TEH MAT CHAPTER!!! In which he loves and is loved universally. Plus THREE EXTRA PAIRINGS ZOMGZ. Posting early because I'm going to have like no time in the next week. _

_Extra pairing for wubs for Zorpy! (Dedicated to my wubbable lj friends – harrylvr, ersatz, zorpy, and shorelle. Claps for them, everybody. _

I own nothing. Tragic, in't?

TEH PAIRINGS AND TEH MAT:

**BONUS PAIRING: **Matviendha. Mat/Aviendha, aka.

**Summary: **Mat and Aviendha talk. She has a question, and he's not sure he has an answer. Mat POV.

Mat/Gawyn: Please just read it? It might be cute. Even if you don't like Gawyn.

**Summary: **After being clobbered by our favorite gambler, Gawyn is worried. Mat is...well, Mat. And irresistable. Gawyn POV.

Mat/Faile: Interesting, non?

**Summary: **Mat likes things simple, and Faile is anything but simple. Mat POV.

Mat/Berelain: Whee, wanted to write this for a while. Finally got around to it. Brief explanation: Mat doesn't chase women who don't want to be chased, but he understands what Berelain doesn't – that she sort of does want to be chased by him.

**Summary: **Similarities can be daunting in love, but not where Mat is concerned. Berelain POV.

_TWO BONUSES! (you'll see)_

_Upcoming! Tuon/Egwene. Ah, the cracktastic._

* * *

Aviendha was a puzzle, and not one Mat liked.

It was probably because she was Aiel. But nonetheless, finding himself alone with her, he was lost for words.

Like now.

He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, willing them not to twitch. "Hello, Aviendha," he said, realizing after he'd said it how imbecilic the words sounded. "What-" he stopped. _What do you want? _What kind of question was that?

Aviendha looked like she was about to smile, but instead she sat down and started sharpening her knife. "I wanted to talk to you about my near-sister, Elayne."

"What about her?" Mat asked warily. Elayne was rarely good news especially when Aviendha got involved.

She glance up at him, looking reproachful, but then her gaze returned to her knife. Mat wished she would stop that. It was making him very nervous. "I think that you are overestimating her ability to protect herself." She hesitated. "Elayne is very brave, but sometimes she plunges in headfirst when she should hold back. You must keep her from doing so, or she will be hurt."

Mat gaped at her. "What?" Aviendha started to repeat herself, but Mat stopped her. "No, I know what you said. It's just…what makes you think I can "keep her" from doing anything? It's all I can do to give her two of my men, and more often than not she wriggles out of that!"

Aviendha frowned, looking perturbed. "I shall have to speak to her about that. But at any rate, you word has more influence with my near sister than you think. She respects you."

Mat couldn't help it. He laughed, feeling somewhat hysterical. Aviendha looked affronted, and her sharpening sped up slightly. Mat hurried to explain. "Elayne? Respects me? Even if she's not the one pitching manure at the back of my head, she's nearly as bad." He glanced at Aviendha, who was frowning again, and rushed on. "She hates me, or at best thinks I am a dirty scoundrel who it's her duty to clean up for her _darling _Rand." As soon as the words were out, he wanted to take them back. The pair seemed to have settled their differences over Rand, but the last thing he wanted was to remind Aviendha of it.

But now she was just looking thoughtful. "You may be right," she said at last, "But I think you are wrong. I do not think that you have the full measure of my near sister." She smiled, and Mat felt suddenly dazed. "Though," she added, "I do not think you are too far off."

Mat was silent, trying frantically to think of something to say. Talking about Elayne was easy, but when he had to talk _to _Aviendha…his tongue was tied. Thankfully, she did not seem to notice the awkward silence, frowning thoughtfully, her eyes distant. When she spoke, the question was so unexpected that he couldn't help gaping."

"Matrim Ca – Mat, am I pretty?"

Mat stared at her. "What – what do you mean?" he asked, throat suddenly dry, and feeling extraordinarily stupid. Aviendha looked down at her knife, flushing.

"Well…I was just wondering. I know that Elayne is beautiful, but…" she sighed, looking even more abashed.

Mat looked down, too. What was he supposed to say? _Aviendha, you are beautiful, and when I'm around you I don't know what to say? You tie my tongue and mind in knots with a smile? You are gorgeous, even though you have a weird knife-sharpening fetish?_

_Aviendha, I think I love you?_

At last he looked her in the eyes, trying to say everything he would never say. "Yes, Aviendha," he said quietly. "Yes, you are beautiful."

* * *

Feeling just a bit resentful of the crowd of women surrounding his fallen brother, Gawyn looked over at the lad who had beaten the pair of them with nothing but a quarterstaff, and sickened to boot. It was just a little embarrassing, and Gawyn did not like being embarrassed. But the boy himself – Mat Cauthon – he was an enigma. A fascinating enigma.

At first sight, he was a lad, but in truth he was the same age as Gawyn; small and wiry, scrawny now, but that was probably the sickness. His dark hair was shaggy and unkempt, dark eyes dancing with laughter. But he was not laughing now. After clobbering the pair of them and collecting his winnings, he had wobbled over to a bench and sat down hard, where he sat now, face in his hands and looking astonishingly pale.

Gawyn glanced at Hammar, insuring he was not looking, and was edified to realize that he was trying to disperse the crowd of women around Galad without much success. He strolled over to the handsome, though somewhat starved-looking man, and sat down next to him.

"You're very good with a quarterstaff," he said. "Who taught you?"

"My da," Mat muttered shortly. "Light! My head hurts."

Gawyn felt a sudden, unreasonable surge of worry. "Are you all right? Should I go get an Aes Sedai?..."

Mat flinched away from the hand on his arm that Gawyn hadn't even realized he had put there. "No Aes Sedai!" he snapped, eyes suddenly wild. Gawyn drew back from the blatant rage and ear in the other man's eyes. Mat seemed to gain control of himself, and he attempted a grin that was clearly forced. "I – I think I've had enough of Aes Sedai for now, thanks. How about you? Does you head hurt? Or just your pride?" He grinned again, this time a genuine one. It was infectious and lit up his whole face. Gawyn grinned back, feeling his breath catch in his throat. His stomach turned a somersault. _What's wrong with me? _He wondered. _I feel like I'm in love, or something._

"Nah," he said. "I've had worst. Though it is somewhat humbling to be so soundly beaten by a man who can barely stand up." Mat glanced at him, one eyebrow lifting slightly, mouth quirked in a sardonic smile. Gawyn grinned at him insolently, some still rational part of him wondering what he was doing. The rest of him didn't even bother wondering. It already knew.

"Gawyn!" Reluctantly, he looked over his shoulder. Hammar beckoned.

"I'd better go," he sighed. "Unless you want help getting back to your rooms…?" _Say yes, _Gawyn pleaded. _Please say yes!_

"No thanks," Mat said, and Gawyn slumped. "But thanks…for the offer." He was already leaving, but he flashed one of those infectious grins over his shoulder. Gawyn's heart turned over and beat faster, his mouth suddenly dry. _Light, what's wrong with me? _He wondered, trying to forget that handsome, laughing face as he sweated and practiced the forms with the other men.

_I _am _in love. I'm in love with a man I'll never see again, for no better reason that a nice smile and laughing eyes…_To his mind, it was impossible.

But to his heart, it made perfect sense.

* * *

Mat liked his life simple.

A girl or a few, some dice, good, hot, food, a safe place - that was all he needed, really. But all of a sudden, with one of the few things he needed – a girl – his life had become a good deal more complicated.

Faile was not exactly…easy to understand. Or mild, either. And she had a way of looking down her nose at him that would do Elayne proud, although the pair avoided each other like the plague. Not that he talked to either of them – oh no. Especially not Faile. She was like a west wind, moody and changeable. One moment she was as high and mighty as a noblewoman, the next she was laughing as if she hadn't a care in the world, least of all for her reputation. Always with Perrin, of course. She was stuck to him like a burr, and Perrin seemed to have no idea. He had always been rather clueless when it came to women.

He thought about talking to her, sometimes – just talking, nothing more. But somehow women always seemed to take it amiss when he started talking to them. It was just not fair. Nothing was fair, Mat thought, in love or in war. Or in anything else. But what would he say, if he did? _Faile, good day, I'm friends with Perrin, and I thought we could talk? Hello, Faile, how are you doing? _Everything sounded incredibly idiotic in his own head, and everything sounded worse in real life than when you tried it on yourself.

He didn't even know what he found attractive in her. Her nose was prominent, bolder than he liked, and she was a bit slender for his taste. But even when he thought so, it was weak. He was on the defensive against Faile, and she was winning a battle she didn't even know she was fighting.

Other men, he knew, when they were besotted, fought duels to cool their blood, or wrote poetry to inflame their passions. But Mat avoided fighting anyone for any reason as much as he could, out of a strong sense of self-preservation that all too many of his friends seemed to lack, and he had tried his hand at poetry once. Only once.

He'd never mentioned that escapade to anyone. Rand had laughed hard enough when he'd caught Mat listening raptly to the merchant guard's tall tales, and believing them, too. And sometimes making up ones of his own. Besides, what would he write about her? Faile, no matter what he felt for her, was not a very poetic figure.

But nonetheless, she lingered in his mind, captivated his senses, for all that she was almost certainly Perrin's girl. Or, if Perrin didn't think so, Faile did. He puzzled over that name. Who would name their daughter falcon? It hardly made sense. No more than naming your daughter eagle did. Besides, it was in the Old Tongue, and not many people knew the Old Tongue, other than nobles, fool lords and ladies. She was a puzzle, and that was no mistake.

And that was why he sat in his rooms this evening, sulking. Well, he did not call it that, but that was what it was. Frustrated and tired, he couldn't even muster the desire to go and beat the stuffing out of the lordlings at cards. All he could think about was Faile, trying to contrive a way to talk to her, to understand her and solve her puzzles. He was drawing a blank, however, and his only defense now was silence.

And he was defending, of that he was certain. There was no fighting back against those captivating, slanted eyes, her fierce pride. Come to think of it, perhaps falcon was not such a bad name for her, after all. Unfortunately, Mat had never been any good at catching birds.

Complicated? Mat mused angrily as he kicked over a bench with a snarl. No, complicated was not right. Impossible was more like it. As impossible as talking a Trolloc into peace. As impossible as calming an angry woman. Yes, life was definitely too complicated for Matrim Cauthon right now, and unfortunately he knew no way out of it.

* * *

Berelain remembered suddenly why she chased men were other women would be demure. Remembered, and cursed herself, him, the wall hangings, anything within reach.

She was angry. She was furious! But more than either, she was feeling extremely harassed. She wanted to laugh at the irony. But more, she wanted to kill something. Remembering Perrin's pitiful attempts to evade her, she couldn't help it. She felt slightly hysterical as she leaned against the tapestry of Artur Hawkwing, laughing wildly.

"I'm glad to see you find something funny, kitten. It makes me smile to see you joyful." Berelain stopped laughing. It seemed she had lost her lead. She should have cut this off when it had started. She had been too gentle, her with the soft spot for the man who was remarkably similar to her. Berelain struggled to smooth her face and collect her feelings.

"Kitten?" she said, her voice as mild and cool as she could make it. Which was to say slightly cooler than boiling water, and about as mild as a midwinter tempest on the Sea of Storms. "That's new. Why kitten?" She turned around, hoping that her mask of calm was not cracking. Her emotions swerved and weaved like a drunken lordling.

"Every man has a name for his sweetheart," said Mat, his infectious smile making her lips twitch. She schooled her face to hard, cold, stillness. "Yours is kitten. I think it suits you."

Berelain's anger flared. "Someday, Matrim Cauthon, you are going to get that smart tongue cut out for you, and I sincerely hope that I am the one to do it."

Mat gave her an offended look, those expressive eyes of his practically melting with false sorrow. "Aw, kitten," he said. "Your words cut me to the core." His lips were twitching. He was _laughing! _At _her! _She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to stab him with Gallene's hunting spear. She wanted to slap him until his ears rang. She clenched her fists and forced herself to keep still. If only he wasn't so…infuriatingly infuriating! Berelain sniffed and turned to sweep away, mustering what little dignity she had left.

"Lady Berelain," said the boy. "You may get mad at me and slap my face all you want, but I beg that you do _not _ignore me." His voice had lost all its teasing tone and was suddenly tense with anger. Berelain was unaccountably afraid.

"I'll do what I please," she snapped, feeling petulant. Why did the cursed man confuse her so?

Matrim's voice was cold. "Did I have the measure of you wrong? Beneath all the low cut dresses, are you just another Nynaeve? I thought you were brave, daring, unafraid to try something that other _Lords and Ladies," – _here his voice dripped with scorn – "would shy from?"

His words stung. She turned away, trying to sort through the tangle of her emotions. "Do not speak to –" she yelped. He dared! He actually _dared _to pinch her bottom, like a common serving girl. She wanted to slap him. She would not. Would not, would not, would – oh, bloody _hell, _she thought, and slapped, the full force of her arm behind it.

He caught her arm and held it, grinning. "I guess you're not so sanguine after all," he said, and, dodging her other arm, kissed her.

She didn't feel her back hit the wall, didn't know when her arms twined around his body, holding him close, didn't realize that servants were staring and mulling what they were seeing into sordid gossip. Her world was reduced to those few moments, that lone kiss, this one man.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Galad was doing something bad, and it felt wonderful.

Love was not the sort of thing that Galadedrid went out for. Love was distracting and troublesome, and generally frowned upon in the Children's ranks. Not forbidden – every man took a lover, once or twice, except for Galad – but not encouraged, certainly. All the same, it was not that which troubled Galad's strong sense of right and wrong.

It was who she was, and the fact that she _was _at all. And was in his life as a necessary fixture. He had not known who she was nigh on a year ago when she had appeared on his doorstep, soaked to the bone and more beautiful than his wildest, most shameful dreams. And, he discovered as he talked to her over hot drinks, a white towel wrapped around her shoulders, dark hair spilling over it like an ebony waterfall on white banks, she was more. With her delicate, perfectly featured face peering at him, her dark eyes soulful and penetrating, she spoke of politics and worldly matters, her mind so quick that even Galad found it hard to keep up with her. Him, the won of Cairhienin parents, growing up with Morgase, counted quite sharp herself. He was fascinated. He was entranced. He was besotted.

He had never dreamed that love could be so wonderful. Desire and love were both strange emotions to Galadedrid Damodred, but she fulfilled both of them. He was deliriously happy for hours that became days that became weeks that became months. But slowly, things began to add up. And he had begun to suspect that everything was not quite right. He was nearly sure now, but for the first time in his life, there was no conflict between duties. Life was empty, worthless, without her, and watching her die would be like killing himself. Killing Elayne.

Would she tell the truth, if he asked? He would not, he knew. And it did not matter. Love was love, and for the first time in his life, Galad was doing what he wanted. Not what anyone else wanted, not what they thought was right, not what _he _thought was right, but what he _wanted. _

And that, he found, was a wonderful feeling.

His arms slipping around her, the wind whispered the name he would never say, that she would never admit.

_Lanfear…_

* * *

Fedwin Morr was fifteen years old and madly in love.

Not that he would ever make a move on her, of course. She was a distant love, like a star, shining far beyond reach. Besides, Fedwin had never been very skilled with girls. He fumbled his words when she walked by, dreamed hopeless dreams of her confessing her love for him, them riding away, hand in hand. In his dreams, it was perfect, but in real life, he choked on the fact that she adored the Lord Dragon, and he her. Fedwin was not blind, for all his youth.

So he suffered in silence, trudging through the days with a small smile when it was needed, and a straight face when it was not, and spent his night awake, dreaming of her. Min was beautiful in a way that no other woman was – she, in breeches and a jacket, looked more lovely than any other in the most expensive and fitted of dresses. Her smile was dazzling, and she was so excellently _alive…_she glowed with the force of her energy, of her lively joy in life. It was difficult to keep from staring at her. She drew him in, a moth to a lamp, consuming him in bliss.

He made clumsy attempts at poetry, fumbling to describe an indescribable feeling, scrambling to find words that fit her. He thought about laying them at her door, of her wondering who her secret admirer was until the day he pronounced his love to her in beauteous, glowing terms, deserving of her. But he never did, the little scraps of boyish love thrown on the floor as he paced to a window, or burnt to a crisp in a fit of temper that nothing he wrote was ever good enough for her.

Narishma knew of his love bordering on obsession, but he did not understand. He had laughed, but he could laugh. He did not have a beautiful lady in love with him, just waiting to realize it. Of course, Narishma had laughed harder at that. The idiot found his love amusing. Love, Fedwin had decided, was in no way amusing. Love was a very serious matter.

Love is always a serious matter at age fifteen.

Every smile was treasured, tucked away to be mused over, wondering if she was trying to say something, if she shared his secret love, only waiting for him to make the first move. Every glance was examined for a subtle meaning beneath her eyes. Such was Fedwin's mad love.

"Guard her with your life," the Lord Dragon had said, and Fedwin would. With his life. There she was, staring after the Dragon with eyes full of fear and worry. Such worry. Fedwin met her eyes and managed a smile, trying to gather the courage to tell her what he wanted to say, trying to remember what it was he wanted to say.

"Don't worry, Min," he heard himself say dimly, from some still rational corner of his mind. "I'll protect you."


	10. The Most Dangerous Game

_a/n: Otter Seastar, thank you for smacking my muse into action. That's good._

_The Semirhage chapter. So we can…love her. Or something._

_Temaile/Semirhage: I had fuuuuun with this one. But am a little nervous. I'm always a little nervous with characters I don't know very well. Not love, again. But a relationship shot._

_**Summary: **Temaile thinks she knows pain. Semirhage disabuses her of that notion._

_Lanfear/Semirhage: Yes. The love/hate/hate._

_**Summary: **Threatening. Menacing. Terrifying. A battle of wills. Or something._

_Graendal/Semirhage: Veeeeeery interesting. _

_**Summary: **Graendal is hunting very dangerous game._

_I'm going to go work on my Tuonshots. Or something._

Semirhage was laughing.

It was a bone chilling, reverberating laugh that echoed somewhere in Temaile's bones and sent a shiver down her spine. She quaked in her shoes in the face of that laugh, so cold and mocking. Terrified? No, she was ready to bolt faster than she had in her life. "You want to service me," she said, her voice almost incredulous, but far too cold for that. "You think I want one of the Spider's little castoffs?" Her voice dripped with cold scorn. Temaile's eyes followed her hands, the light flashing off the needle. Stab through the cloth, pull through, stab, pull through. It was mesmerizing. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm not one of…Moghedien's…castoffs. I know a lost cause when I see one, and I don't think that you would end the same way she did."

A smile flickered on Semirhage's lips, a smile that did not touch her eyes. "Ah, so a rat from a sinking ship. I am not fond of rats. Almost as unfond as I am of Spiders. The answer is no," she said, standing up and sliding the needle through her workpiece. "And you should remember, flattery will get you nowhere with me. I am not the Spider."

Temaile was so afraid she couldn't be angry. And she was desperate. "I know pain," she said. "I know how to hurt people without killing them, and…" Semirhage's dark eyes were boring into her, spearing holes through her. The glow of _saidar _sprang up around her, more than Temaile had ever dreamed of holding. She quailed.

"You think you know pain," said Semirhage, and her voice should have frozen the air. "You think you understand pain, you pathetic little worm? You know nothing. Can you create pleasure so intense that it passes the point of standing? Can you control the thoughts of others, bend them to your will?" She was advancing, her walk prowling. The needlepoint at her side should have detracted from her menace, but it did not in any way.

"Have you seen the pain in your opponent's eyes, rejoiced in their fear, drunk it in and made it your strength? Can you understand the joy of total and complete control, of utter surrender when their spirit breaks and gives in?" The needle came out, pressed down her breastbone, harder, harder, until a trickle of blood traced down her chest. She paused the needle beneath her breastbone and shifted her hand, ready to drive it in. Temaile squeaked, terrified, ready to beg for her life. She looked into Semirhage's cold eyes and saw a peculiar desire, a heat so intense that it swallowed her and left nothing. Temaile felt a sudden warmth between her legs. She realized that she had wet herself.

Semirhage's eyes glimmered. Temaile closed her eyes and surrendered, feeling sick with fear, and waited for the final blow. Something brushed her mind, just hard enough to leave an impression, and was gone. "Down on your knees," Semirhage said. "Beg, little worm. Beg, spider's spawn." Temaile was kneeling before she knew it, gibbering apologies and obsequious pleadings, kissing the hem of Semirhage's dress frantically. Fear shivered through her. She could not stop trembling. Then she realized what the sound was she heard through her haze of terror, and whimpered.

Semirhage was laughing

* * *

Lanfear had always hated Semirhage. Semirhage had always hated Lanfear. It was a thoroughly mutual hatred, and they liked it that way. It made things simpler. But sometimes, Semirhage wondered… what might it be like, if she and Lanfear didn't hate each other? It was a peculiar thought, and not altogether welcome, but somewhat intriguing. It might bear exploring. 

A subtle shifting, a small change in the way she thought, and suddenly there were doors opening that hadn't been visible before. The surprise. They would be unstoppable. Their power, working together… the other Chosen would be helpless before this bold move. The two strongest women among them.

Semirhage considered, her needlework forgotten in her lap. Shut in her room, no one could see her. She stepped into the World of Dreams. Lanfear was always there, now. She pulled up short before her first step as Lanfear strolled out of the shadows, cool as you please. Wearing white, as usual. "Semirhage," Lanfear said coolly. She was probably the only one who could manage her name in that cool, confident tone that verged on bored.

Semirhage smiled. "So lovely to see you here."

Lanfear smiled back, utterly calm. Semirhage resisted the urge to snarl, and gritted her teeth. "The pleasure is all mine." It was always like this. Sidestepping, toying with each other, circling and prodding to find weaknesses. But Semirhage was not in the mood for one of those games.

She sat down in the chair that suddenly existed and waved her hand dramatically, creating a chair for Lanfear. Semirhage had always been rather fond of theatrics, when they were appropriate. "See here, Lanfear," she said. "I have a proposition for you, and I don't have much time. So I'm going to cut past all that glorious taunting we were setting up to do and talk."

Lanfear quirked the corners of her mouth in a smile. "I'm listening."

"What say you we cooperate for a while? We would be stronger together, coordinating our movements, than we are fragmented as we currently are. Besides, the two of us could probably scare most of the others into submission. We are…formidable enemies." Lanfear smiled, acknowledging the remark on their past relationship, and considered, her eyes locked on Semirhage's, weighing, considering. It was disconcerting that Lanfear found it so easy to stare at her. Semirhage liked being able to intimidate people, and it was very uncomfortable when she found it difficult to do so.

"Your principle is sound, but it has a few faults," said Lanfear critically. Semirhage frowned at her dismissive tone, but she was not done. Holding up a hand, she ticked off her points on her fingers. "One, what do I get from it, other than some control over the Chosen? How does it get me closer to my personal goals? Two, why shouldn't I suspect something, coming from you? You're not exactly a reliable source. Three, I don't like you, so why would I want to cooperate with you?"

Semirhage snapped. "_Tsag, _Lanfear! You should because I'm offering you an alliance and you'd much rather be my friend than my enemy."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I bloody well am, _Daughter of Night._ Listen to me. I-" Suddenly Semirhage realized what the sound she hadn't registered yet was. Lanfear was laughing. "What in bloody hell are you laughing at?"

"You, Semirhage." She bristled, and Lanfear laughed harder, a luxurious, rich laugh that sent males everywhere dropping to their knees. "I would welcome an alliance. At the very least it would keep you from interfering in my affairs, as the others are."

Semirhage blushed. She hadn't blushed in a long time, and she snarled to cover it, but stuck out her hand to seal the alliance. Lanfear glanced at it, her mouth twisting in distaste. "No," she said. "I think something a bit more…serious."

Semirhage did not know how she did it. She flowed closer, and suddenly Lanfear's arms snaked around her, and she was kissing Semirhage fiercely. She blinked, feelings tumbling over each other and bubbling somewhere in the region of her throat. It seemed like lifetimes – it seemed like seconds. Lanfear pushed her back before Semirhage could control herself enough to be angry.

"Done," she said, and was gone before Semirhage could open her mouth.

For probably the first time in a long, long, life, Semirhage was surprised.

* * *

Graendal was playing a very dangerous game. 

She sat across from Semirhage, holding a cup of tea and ignoring Semirhage's blatant disgust as she tried to ignore her cavorting pets. She plastered a smile on her face and laughed girlishly. "Semirhage, darling. I'm so glad you could make it here. We haven't spoken in so long."

Semirhage glanced at her, and her lip curled, just slightly. She wasn't even making an effort to hide her disdain. That stung. Graendal kept her smile with an effort. "No one has called me "darling" for a very long time, Graendal," Semirhage said coolly, and though her tone was calm, something dangerous flickered in her eyes. Graendal suppressed a small flutter of fear.

"Well then, maybe it's a good thing I'm here." She had to keep her opponent off balance. She had to keep moving fast enough that Semirhage would not discover her game. She had no illusions about Semirhage's viciousness, and she was certain that one mistake would leave her a gibbering, insane heap of rags, if she was still alive. "You shouldn't wear black so often, darling. It makes you look so washed out."

Semirhage glanced at her and smiled in a way that made Graendal glad the woman hadn't brought her needlepoint. It always made Graendal nervous when Semirhage brought a needle to these little get togethers, even when it wasn't just the pair of them. The cursed woman was more frightening, facing her one on one, and Graendal wished that she were just a little taller. Lanfear could afford to face Semirhage and scorn her, but Graendal had no such luxury. Especially if she wanted to continue playing their game. Her game.

"I'd rather not change my attire for your ideas on my appearance, Graendal." Semirhage's eyes took in her less than modest dress, the fine fabric and luxuriant cut. "I prefer to waste my money on more…worthwhile things." That smile. That little flickering at the corners of her mouth – it was almost like a warning, almost mocking, almost too many things, and _was_ nothing. It set Graendal's teeth on edge.

Shoving her tea at one of her pets, Graendal got up and swayed over to her temporary companion. "I have just the ideas for you," she cooed, her voice suitably girlish, brainless. She was practiced at this sort of thing. "Tucking in at the waist, a little lower of a neckline… maybe a little color here…" She touched Semirhage's neckline, oh so lightly. Delicate, Graendal, delicate… she thought, her hand tracing down her neck to the high lace neckline of Semirhage's dress. Slowly…

She fell back, her cheek stinging, and tried to pull away. Semirhage's grip was like a vice on her wrist. "Don't touch me _ever _again," she said, her voice like ice.

Graendal squirmed, trying to pull her wrist away. "I was just…"

"Never!" Graendal screamed as Semirhage's grip tightened and felt her bones grind together. Semirhage's face was in hers. "Do you take me for an idiot? I know what you are trying to do. Do you want me, Graendal? Do you _desire _me?" Her voice lowered to a purr, Semirhage's nails pressing into her neck painfully, her other hand still grinding the bones of her wrist together. Her face drew closer, and Graendal felt Semirhage's hot breath on her neck, her teeth nibbling at the pale skin until it hurt more than it should have. A hard, vicious bite. Graendal whimpered and found that she was trembling. Semirhage drew back, breathing hard, her eyes flaming and that almost-everything smile sliding across her face. Greandal pressed her hand to her neck and gave a small moan when her fingers came away red.

"Semirhage, I…"

Her cruel smile. So cold. Her fingers brushed the cut, glancing at the blood on her fingers. She looked Graendal in the eyes. "A love bite," she said softly, her voice that hungry, vicious, purr. "Something for you to remember me by." Graendal closed her eyes, trying to breathe. When she opened them again, Semirhage was gone.

Furious, she lashed out with a knife sharp weave of Air, slicing off the nearest pet's head. He fell without a sound, his blood staining her rug. She winced. It had been a fine rug, too. She turned the body over with her toe and grimaced. He had been one of the better ones. It was too bad she had lost her temper.

Something to remember her by.

Graendal could never forget Semirhage.


	11. Driven to Distraction

_A/N: Is it sad that looking at people's profiles gives me ideas? _

_Maybe not. _

_At any rate, thanks to Hiroshikata, who inspired this chapter without even knowing that she did so. Woot. Feel the love, LOGAIN._

_No! It's actually not a character chapter! Wow/sarcasm. Some Min, some Logain, much cuteness. No theme, really. But whatever._

_Nynaeve/Logain: Yay for hurt/comfort pieces. Pfwee._

_**Summary: **Nynaeve is scared of Logain for more than one reason._

_Logain/Min: This is one of the cutest pairings I've written, I think. Right up there with Fedwin/Min, or Perrin/Min. Or Gawyn/Mat, I was fond of that one, too. Or Semirhage/Spider. Tee hee._

_**Summary: **Logain mentions that he is bored. Min finds a solution to that problem._

_Herid/Min: do I love Min too much, or is she just versatile?_

_**Summary: **Min is distracting just by being there._

Much as she hated to admit it, Nynaeve was afraid of Logain.

Nynaeve didn't like being afraid of anything. She never showed her fear, of course. There were plenty of ways of disguising it. Anger, sarcasm, just plain indifference. But with Logain, it was harder. She didn't know what it was, and that was all the more frustrating. It was just a vague feeling, a sense – and it probably had something to do with the fact that even stilled, defeated, he was more intimidating than most Aes Sedai she'd met. He had an overwhelming presence that swallowed you and made you want to surrender.

And that was if you ignored the fact that he was very handsome.

Not that Nynaeve was one to lose her head just for a handsome man. Oh no. Not her. The hell she would! Blood and bloody –

She bit her tongue. She would not swear. That would be like admitting defeat, admitting that she was losing her battle against Logain. She sat down and seized his head between her hands, snapping brusquely, "Hold still." He looked at her. His eyes were so dark and bottomless, and they seemed to hold all the hatred in the world, and something else – not a leer, not even interest. Just…something. It made her feel vaguely uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to squirm.

It was hard, working with him. Touching him made her heart beat faster, and she felt vaguely sick when she met his gaze. It was not _right, _it was not _fair. _It should have made her angry, but instead she wanted to tremble. Of course she would not. She refused to show that much.

Light, but her made her head spin.

She looked at him, and frowned. "Why are you smiling?"

He was watching her, those dark eyes so deep seeing into her soul, seeing into her fear and her deepest desires. She shivered and resisted the urge to draw into herself, to take shelter from his eyes. "Nothing," he said at last. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Min didn't like watching Logain. 

He made her feel guilty and confused just by looking at him, and neither was a pleasant feeling, and, unfortunately, neither had an apparent solution. Luckily, Min had a bad habit of eavesdropping.

"Why do you keep coming out here? You know there's nothing."

"I'm bored. At least outside the Tower, there's a little bit of color and life, still." That was Logain's voice, the deep, melodious sound that dragged with the despair she saw in his eyes. No man should have that much despair weighing him down. It was not _right, _it was not _fair, _no matter what he was or what he had done. It would have been better just to kill him. It was the same thing, in the end, as far as she understood. But she listened to the rumble of his beautiful voice, and had an idea.

The next time she saw him, she was armed. He was sitting by the fountain, staring off into the distance with that empty look in his eyes that made her shiver. It was as though he wasn't sitting there at all, as though there was nothing inside that shell of a body and voice. She squared her shoulders and marched across the courtyard. She just had to treat him like the stable boys. And forget that he destroyed half of Ghealdan. Easy enough.

She almost whimpered.

"Scoot," she said. "There's no room."

He glanced at her. Light, he didn't even look surprised. "What are you doing here?" The lack of tone in his voice bothered her.

"I'm going to read to you." She settled herself in on the edge of the fountain, swinging her legs absently as she flipped to the beginning of the book she'd brought. "Is 'the Travels of Jain Farstrider' okay?"

"I can read perfectly well on my own." There was a trace of coldness in his voice. Just a trace. But when I looked at him, his eyes were as empty as ever.

"But you won't, and you complained about being bored. I have an hour before anyone comes looking, so if you don't mind?" She held up the book.

He sighed and turned his head away from her, staring straight ahead. An empty shell. Clearing her throat, Min started to read.

"In the days when the world was younger and more innocent, though still less innocent than it was in the Age of Legends, there was a man who was a Legend." She glanced at Logain, but he seemed to be ignoring her. She continued. "His name was Jain Charin when he was born, but it was not long before he became known as Jain Farstrider." Logain was still staring straight ahead. Bloody, stubborn, man. Well, she was not going to let him bother her. She continued reading, and right on the dot as an hour finished, she slammed the book shut. To her satisfaction, he jumped. "Time's up," she said cheerfully. "I'll meet you here tomorrow?"

He said nothing.

She pretended not to notice.

She noted with some satisfaction that he was there when she arrived with her book the next day – and the day after that, and the day after that. When they finished with Jain Farstrider's adventures, she picked up a romance novel from the bookshop in the city and started that. Always, she read for exactly an hour and then shut the book. "Time's up," she said. "See you tomorrow?" He grunted.

It was progress.

Eventually, he glanced at her every so often, his brows furrowed in little rows. Considering her. She raised her eyebrows at him whenever she caught him doing it, and paused. "Yes?"

He quickly looked away.

"Time's up," she announced one day. "I'll be going."

"Can't you read just a little longer?"

It was the first time he had spoken. Min looked at him, and smiled. Something flickered in those dark eyes of his. Life. "Fine," she said. "I can be a little bit late for the Aes Sedai. It's fun to tweak their noses every once in a while." She winked at him, and he made a stifled rumbling noise that might have been a chuckle. Yes, it was definitely progress.

She didn't know if the Aes Sedai knew what she was doing, or cared – but at least no one interfered. It was quiet in the gardens, and Logain had found a secluded spot. She had never heard of coaxing someone back to life with a book, but it seemed to be working. She wouldn't question a good thing.

"Sorry," she said, closing the book. "It's been an hour."

Logain was looking at her curiously, his brows furrowed in that handsome and puzzled way he had. "Why?" he asked.

Min looked at him, surprised. He rarely asked questions, and spoke even more rarely. She didn't mind too much, as long as he didn't lose that spark of life in his eyes. "What was that?"

"Why?" He repeated. "Why do you bother? I'm a lost cause. And a man who could channel, at that. Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"No," she lied. "And I bother because you're handsome, and I don't like to see a life going to waste. You'll find, master Logain, that I am a very determined girl. If you decide to die again, I'll drag you out of your grave by your heels. It would be a terrible waste of a gorgeous man."

He stared at her, and laughed, a full-throated, husky laugh that made her breath catch in her throat. "You, Min, are a fox," he said, smiling for the first time since she had met him.

She smiled and laughed coyly, batting her eyelashes. "You flatter me." She turned away, ready to go, but his hand caught her arm. Her pulse beat faster.

"Thank you, Min. For everything." He held her hand and kissed it, his dark eyes meeting hers. She drank in that gaze, drank in that life, and sighed.

She made myself smile. "You, Logain, are far too handsome to go doing that." She laughed, caught his head and pulled it down to kiss his lips before fleeing into the garden, laughing and pretending not to care that he looked bewildered behind her as she glanced back.

She couldn't feel sorry for him, not the way her pulse was leaping, her heart pounding in her throat.

He really was too handsome

* * *

Herid Fel was feeling bothered.

She smiled, and suddenly it was hard to think. She made his head spin just by standing there. It was just not fair. He wished that he would not bring her to these little discussions. It was so distracting. She just sat there, watching the pair of them and muddling his brain with every little laugh, every little motion.

"What were you saying?"

He was so impatient. Here every week with his questions, expecting answers. At the very least he could come alone and not bring pretty girls with him. It was impossible to think with girls around. They messed with one's mind. It was a proven fact. He'd written it somewhere in his notes. Maybe if he could find it he could give it to the man so he wouldn't bring her back. Of course, then she wouldn't be there, smiling and making him feel young again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I lost…my train of thought." He shot a look at her that he hoped was a glare. Of course, he'd never been any good at glaring. Apparently she still wasn't, by the way she laughed. It was a beautiful laugh, hers. Suitable for a pretty girl, in the prime of her life, and certainly not interested in an old man.

Of course, he could still wish.

Not that he was interested, of course. She was too distracting. If she were around, he would never be able to think. He was watching him again. Staring, really. Why was he so persistent? Of course, he did have interesting questions. Things that made him think. He liked thinking. Of course, having her there made thinking difficult. She made him wander around in circles.

"I'm too old for this," he muttered. Nobody seemed to hear him, or at least pay any attention.

He stood up. "I have to go…somewhere," he said. "Please, don't wait for me." She took his arm and swept out, still giggling. Beautiful as a queen. He looked down, thinking. Setting a pen to paper, he let his mind wander.

_Belief and order give strength. Have to clear rubble before you can build. Will explain when see you next._

He looked down at what he had written and nodded approvingly. After a moment's thought, he pursed his lips and added six more words.

_Do not bring girl. Too pretty._


	12. Desire and a Kiss or Two

_a/n: I AM NOT DEAD YET! _

_In other news. It's a Min chapter AND a Galad chapter in one. . I think I do love her too much. Hope you're not getting sick of reading about her. _

_Min/Gawyn: I have a soft spot for early series Gawyn. I have this weird idea that he's cute, or something. Which he was. Not is. Was._

_**Summary: **Gawyn has a dilemma, and her name is Min._

_Min/Faile Can anyone say S&M??? KIDDING, KIDDING._

_**Summary:** Faile does some playing with Min. Min doesn't know what to think. Perrin gets involved, indirectly._

_Min/Egwene: I ship them now._

_**Summary: **Egwene gets out of breath._

_Pondering writing Thom/Mother Guenna. For old person fluff, eh?_

_Galadslash Promised to the persistent Youko Koenma. pokepoke_

_**Galad/Rand**: Brotherly love ._

_Galad/Mat: Hotness+hotnesshotness. Not sure when this takes place._

_**Summary: **Drunk!Galad + Hot!Mat Sexual!tension. No, srrsly._

_Galad/Logain: Sometime after Egwene sets Logain free, they come upon each other._

_**Summary: **Galad likes to have control. Unfortunately, so does Logain. _

_EXTRA GALAD PAIRING!_

_Galad/Elayne: Okay. A little explanation. I know – incest squick, right? But this is cuteish. Trust me. Try it? Please?_

_**Summary: **Elayne is very good at messing with men's minds. Especially Galad's._

_Meanwhile.  
_

* * *

Gawyn was worried that he was developing _something _for Min. 

He'd never had much experience with girls – Elayne had been a flirt since she'd been big enough to flutter her eyelashes – but he didn't share her interest in romance. Elayne had been pushing various girls at him since she was old enough to boss him around, but he ignored them, always managing to evade them in the end, after a few minutes of awkward conversation where the girls flushed and giggled, and he fidgeted and waited for his chance to get away.

But Min was different. Separate from all that.

He hadn't noticed her much when it had been his sister and Egwene and her – he was too busy admiring Egwene's good looks and wishing he had the courage to speak up and keeping an eye on his sister – but now that she was here in the Tower, wearing a dress and her hair curled like a lady's…she suddenly seemed much more attractive. But if it had just been that, the pretty dresses, the beautiful face, he would never have spoken to her. But she laughed with him (and at him, all too often), and kicked his shins when he was an idiot. It was like having a sister, but…not. Min was very different from Elayne.

He teased, he cajoled, he laughed and mocked her name, Elmindreda Farshaw. He always called her Elmindreda. It was only because if he called her Min, he was afraid that she would hear the caress on his tongue, hear him savoring her name as though it were her lips on his, kissing him and whispering words of love.

He was hopeless, and happy.

Sometimes she would roll her eyes at him, but more often she would lower her eyelashes teasingly and laugh at him, her eyes peering behind black lashes, and he would laugh, too, forcing it through a suddenly thick throat. His stomach lurched when she brushed his hand, and he struggled to keep it off his face. She did not love him, he was sure – to her, he was just Elayne's twin, her rather silly brother.

He dreamed of her, dreamed of her smiling at him, laying her hand on his arm, and he trembled at that touch and at the desperation in her eyes. Sometimes he held a sword, and he feared – _if Min tried to betray everything I stood for, what would I do?_

He hoped desperately he would never have to make that choice.

* * *

He plunked down a pot of ale in front of him, and Galad stared at it distrustfully. "I don't think this is a good idea," he said. 

"Nonsense," said the man he'd only just met a few moments ago. He'd mentioned being worried about his sister, and suddenly there he was, steering Galad to a table and then disappearing. "You're worried. Everyone knows that getting drunk is the best cure for worries."

"But…" the man shoved the mug at him, and nodded at it. "Drink up. Enjoy yourself. You look like someone who never loosens up."

Galad sighed and glanced at the mug, and let out a breath. He raised his eyebrows and sighed again. "All right, here goes," he said, and downed the glass. He gasped as it hit hard, and blinked. The stranger nodded approvingly. He was leaning back, feet propped up on the table, dark hair hanging in his eyes, sipping a mug of his own. "I don't even know your name," said Galad, wondering why he was sitting here drinking with a man who looked more than half a vagabond.

"Mat's fine. You?"

"Galad," said Galad, and hiccupped slightly, feeling a little dizzy. "Galadedrid Damodred. Light, what is this stuff? I'm not feeling well."

"You're feeling fine. It's called drunk. Here, have another glass." The stranger – Mat – seemed to pull another glass of the stuff out of nowhere and handed it to him. Galad stared at it as he would have at a snake. A _poisonous _snake. Mat gulped down another glass and glanced at Galad. He sighed, and raised the glass.

"Cheers."

"Indeed."

-------------------------------------

He lost track of the drinks over the next few glasses. Suddenly he found himself out on the dance floor, twirling a bosomy girl and laughing. Him! Laughing! It was utterly improbable. And utterly wonderful. He swayed slightly, handing the girl off to another man and wobbling over to the table. Laughter faded. He was feeling very ill.

"What are you doing?" He glanced at the stranger who'd just spoken, feeling a sense of familiarity. He stuck out his hand genially.

"Hullo. Galadededreadamodred," he slurred. "Andyou?"

The man grimaced. "Remind me not to give you so much next time," he said. "You have no head for drink." His arm slid around Galad's waist, supporting him. Galad hiccupped a little, and laughed.

"It's good," he said. "I just don't feel too well, that's all."

The stranger ignored him, steering him away from the noise and chaos of the common room. His arm was tight and steady and warm around his waist, and Galad was suddenly very aware of his skin. It tingled, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss this scruffy young man and dance with him. He glanced at the stranger's hair and wondered about tangling his hand in that dark mane, pulling back his head and pressing their lips together, meeting his tiger-eyes.

"Here," the young man said gruffly. What was his name again? Pat? Mat? So hard to remember these things. "Come here." He pulled Galad closer, his arm brushing against an inch of bared skin under his loose shirt. How had it gotten untucked? That wasn't right. He fumbled for it and found himself touching the stranger – Mat, that was his name – the stranger's shoulder, holding it, facing him and looking into his eyes. He felt a sudden urge just to try, to grab his head and hold it and kiss him. Mat looked at him, raised his eyebrows just slightly, and moved a little closer. He seized the back of Galad's neck in one hand and pulled him closer…

And shoved. Galad's face hit water, and he coughed as he gargled in sudden lack of oxygen. He emerged, feeling vaguely sick, and just in time found the basin.

After retching up the contents of his stomach, he looked up and saw Mat staring at him. Leaning against the wall, boots propped up, relaxed in an easy slouch, his tiger-cat-eyes glinting in the dim light. He remembered, and blushed. Mat raised an eyebrow.

"You all right?"

Galad blushed more hotly and looked down. "I'm fine." Light! What if he had – what if – he flinched and sat down weakly, his knees shaking.

"Why, Galad, you don't look relaxed at all." There was just a hint of mocking in Mat's voice. Galad scowled, and hoped that Mat had no idea of the thoughts that had been running through his mind.

"I was drunk," he muttered to himself. Unfortunately, Mat still looked strangely attractive, and something in Galad responded to that attraction. His skin tingled with the memory of a touch.

"What was that?" Mat's eyebrows were raised again, his mouth twisted in a half smile. Light, but he was handsome. Galad groaned.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Nothing at all."

* * *

"So," said Faile, her eyes boring into Min, searching her out, "There's nothing between you and…my husband?"

Min glanced at the woman, straight backed, dressed in a plain but elegant dress of gray, her tilted eyes fierce and possessive. _Poor Perrin, _she thought. _It looks like he's found his falcon. _She shook her head with a small smile. "No," she said. "There's nothing between me and Perrin. He adores you, you know?"

Faile glanced at her, her eyes glowing slightly. "How do you know?" she snapped, "Have you…discussed me?" her voice grew dangerously calm. Those flashing eyes, unfortunately, gave the lie of her words.

Min couldn't help it. She threw back her head and laughed richly. Faile bristled, and she hastened to explain. "No! It's just obvious, that's all. He looks at you like a man so in love he has no idea what hit him."

A small smile flickered on Faile's lips, and her eyes were cool, considering. Min felt another surge of pity for Perrin. He would have no idea how to handle this woman. Well, he would have to learn on his own. "Does he now?" she said softly. "That's very…interesting. …Ah, Min," she continued after a brief pause. "Have you bedded him?"

Min blinked. "What?"

"_Him. _You know. The Dragon."

Min blushed. "I don't think that's any of your business."

Faile's mouth twisted in a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, I think it is. I'd like to know if you're committed to him. Because if you are…I don't have to worry about my husband."

Min blinked again. "Faile," she said firmly. "Perrin would never cheat on you. Ever. He _adores _you. And I won't let you misuse that. If you hurt Perrin, I swear I will make your life very unpleasant." She slid the knife out of her sleeve and twirled it over her fingers. She looked up to see that Faile was holding her own knife. She flinched briefly.

"I will not have you telling me how to handle my own husband."

Min flushed slightly, but she wasn't backing down. "I'm just defending my friend from a cold, calculating woman who might hurt him just to test how much he loves her!"

Now it was Faile's turn to blink. She stared at Min for several seconds and finally threw back her head and laughed, a golden, husky sound that Min felt vaguely jealous of. It was a beautiful laugh. "Min!" she laughed. "You and I are far too much alike. Cold, am I? I love Perrin just as much as you obviously love that man out there. I only want what's best for him."

Min frowned. "Best for him?"

Faile rolled her eyes slightly. "I'm not that awful, Min. Relax. As long as you don't want to sink your claws into my husband, I don't care _what _you do."

That wasn't really a comfort. Flushing, Min scowled. "By the way, no, I haven't slept with him. But I plan to do so at the earliest opportunity." Faile laughed again, and linked her arm into Min's.

"Then I think he had best be aware," she said. "I would be afraid of you." Her breath whispered on Min's ear, a cold brush of wind. She shuddered slightly, and wasn't sure why. Faile's expression took on a satisfied air as they stepped through the adjoining door between rooms. Faile released her and bent slightly to kiss Min's cheek. "Good luck," she whispered, and Min blinked up at her. Faile smiled coldly at her and swept out of the room at Perrin's side.

"What was that about?" asked Rand.

"Oh," said Min softly, breathlessly. "Actually, I'm not sure. And uncomfortably, I'm not sure who won."

* * *

There were many things Galad disapproved of: lechery, thievery, drunkenness, wanton violence. But at the top of the list were men who could channel. The women, the Aes Sedai, he could tolerate, even if they had sent his hapless younger sister headlong into danger – at least she'd seemed well enough when he'd last seen her – but the men…Galad shuddered. Doomed to go mad and destroy the world in that madness.

And then there was Logain.

Logain, with his dark, lifeless eyes. A pitiable wreck. But a safe one. In the Tower, Galad had always avoided the handsome man – hurrying past when he saw him walking the gardens, turning his head to avoid that empty gaze. Something in Galad sympathized with that, felt Logain's lost desolation echo a chord deep in himself, and led to the uncomfortable realization that he and Logain were not so different after all.

He should be dead. And there he was, shadowed eyes staring into his drink, hair pulled back from his face in a disheveled queue, wearing clothes that might have been fine once – and were almost certainly stolen – but now were ripped and dirty, as though he'd spent the last few weeks sleeping in ditches. He looked about to doze off, his eyes hooded and half closed.

Galad sat down, his knees feeling weak. Chewing nervously on his knuckle, he absently took a sip from someone's abandoned mug. What was he going to do? Logically, he should kill the man. He had been a False Dragon; he'd destroyed half of Ghealdan. But the memory of an echo of similarity stayed his hand. Similarity, and something else – something that Galad squirmed away from, did not want to touch.

He realized that his knuckle was hurting, and stopped chewing on it. Lost in thought, he jerked in surprise when a hand clamped on his shoulder and steered him away from the table. He pulled free to face this insistent stranger and found himself looking into Logain's dark eyes.

In that moment of surprise, Logain shoved Galad through the back door and stepped through, turning to close the door. Galad whipped out his sword and set the point between the man's shoulder blades. Logain froze, and tensed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Logain, his voice soft. It was the first time he'd spoken. Galad had forgotten how beautiful his voice was. For a moment, he forgot to breathe, swirling in that low, syrupy music of a voice. Then he shook himself.

"Why ever not?" he snarled, feeling unreasonably angry at his loss of control. He didn't like the way Logain's voice made him feel. He tightened his grip on the sword and shifted, ready to drive it in. But everything happened so fast. Something snapped across his knuckles, hard, and with a yelp he dropped the sword, surprised. Shaking his finger, feeling as though he'd been whacked with a rod, he looked up and saw Logain admiring his sword. He hadn't moved.

"Hey!" he said. "Give that back!" Feeling a little like a petulant child, he lunged for his sword and met an invisible wall. As soon as he realized what was going on, he jerked back, no longer attempting to hide his surprise. Logain raised an eyebrow calmly, and stabbed the sword into the ground, leaning casually on it. Galad couldn't muster the composure to growl. He was being toyed with, and he had no way to stop it. "You…" he babbled, feeling utterly bemused. "You…were…"

"Gentled?" he said. "It's easier to say now. It was hard at first. But apparently it's not as permanent as the Aes Sedai make it out to be. I can thank Nynaeve al'Meara for that.

Galad narrowed his eyes. "Nynaeve? The Accepted from the Two Rivers?"

"Aes Sedai, now," said Logain coolly. Please, sit down. There should be a bench behind you."

"I should kill you."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that. I'd advise you to keep very still. One wrong move, and…" he gestured slightly. Galad flinched, but nothing happened. "Though I could just hold you there, if I wanted to," he said, and suddenly Galad's wrists snapped together, then released just as quickly. Logain's black eyes were cold and deep pools that showed absolutely no mercy. Galad shivered.

"Why do you want to talk to me?" said Galad, trying to stifle rising panic. Something was odd about carrying on a reasonable conversation with the man who had single-handedly started a war.

"You were watching me. I assumed you'd have the questions. Though I do have one for you, though…" Logain's dark eyes, once again glinting with mocking mirth, looked Galad's spotless white uniform up and down candidly. Galad felt suddenly naked. It was a very uncomfortable feeling. "What are you doing in a Whitecloaks uniform, with a sister who can channel? That doesn't seem to make sense."

"My motivations are my own," said Galad stiffly. Logain smiled slightly, his eyes mocking Galad relentlessly. He flushed. "And I don't have any questions. I was just surprised to see you here." _And to see you at all._

Logain laughed again, a low, rich laugh that felt like melted chocolate. Galad felt suddenly limp. A moment later he stiffened. He must always be on his guard with this man. "Galad," he said softly. "Galad. Yes, I know your name. I asked around. I like to know who I'm speaking to. You are so funny. Watching me as if I might pounce on you at any moment. Well, I might, mightn't I?" Logain's hand brushed along the back of his neck, just a slight pressure, and he paced around him; Galad could only stand transfixed, his skin feeling suddenly itchy. "You and I…we're not so different, are we? Both of us trapped, respectively, by what we're expected to be. I will always be the False Dragon, and you…" Logain's low chuckle was chilling. "Maybe we should both…relax…for a while." Logain's hand rested on Galad's shoulder, a companionable gesture, but something in those dark eyes of his made Galad half want to pull away, half want to press closer.

He heard the sound of Trom's voice in the common room, and it gave him the energy to break Logain's spell of a gaze. "I should go," he said, and opened his mouth to tell Logain something, but the man was already gone. Trom stepped out back a moment later to find Galad staring out at the trees, mystified.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Galad blinked. "Nothing," he said. "Come on. I want to go get drunk."

* * *

Egwene stared at her feet dangling off the edge of the bed, watching them swing back and forth, back and forth, and tried to ignore Min's interested gaze on her from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. A clock ticked the seconds of silence between them. Finally Egwene could stand it no more.

"Min!" she wailed, "what am I going to _do?_"

Min got up and sat next to her, her arm tightly around her shoulders. "I don't know why you're so worried about this. He's just a boy."

"But he's gorgeous! And what if he wanted to kiss me? I wouldn't know what to do!"

"What, you've never kissed anyone before? On the lips, I mean?"

Wordlessly, Egwene shook her head. Min rolled her eyes to the ceiling and sighed.

"What you need, Egwene," she said, "Is a kissing lesson."

Egwene stared at her. "W-what?" She was utterly out of her depth here. There was Rand, of course, but their contact had been limited to hastily stolen kisses on the cheek, and even that was rare. "I'm not you or Elayne. I grew up thinking that kissing was something you did _after _marriage, for Light's sake."

Min rolled her eyes again. "We begin at the beginning, Egwene," she said. "Besides, Galad seems to be a terrible prude. He's probably never kissed anyone, either. He might not even kiss _you, _you know."

"He might."

"Just try not to get your hopes up. Anyway, so if you want to kiss him, you might have to start. And all you do is lean in and – ouch! Egwene, don't whack your head into mine! That will _not _have Galad panting after you, that I can guarantee."

Egwene blushed. Min rubbed her head and continued. So you lean in slowly, take his head in your hands, like…so…" Min held Egwene's head between her hands, cradling it, and pull him in. It's like reeling in a fish. You're reeling in a man. And if you do it right, he'll be hooked. Believe me. I've done this for years with the stableboys to get them to do my chores." Egwene giggled nervously, trembling slightly. Min's hands were warm and her skin was surprisingly smooth. "Then you lean in, turn your head and brush his lips with yours. Just a little. Like…" Min's lips brushed Egwene's, and she made a small noise that might have been protest and might have been a little moan of pleasure. "And then you kiss him."

Min's lips were on hers, firm against her mouth, her arms holding her close and secure. Egwene surrendered, drinking in the taste of Min's lips, salty and sweet and delicious. The kiss lasted for moments that were a lifetime, and then Min sat back, breathing hard. Egwene felt winded, as if she'd run a long distance.

"And that's…kissing." Min said weakly, her chest heaving slightly.

Egwene's eyes were wide. "Has anyone ever told you," she gasped, "That you are a good kisser?"

Min smiled, but something flickered in her eyes that made Egwene feel warm all over. "No," she said softly. "No, they haven't."

* * *

Elayne threw her head back and laughed, her hand resting on Galad's arm as he walked her through the garden. He looked down at her, bewildered, and she glanced up at him. "Oh, Galad," she said. "Do I have to have a reason to laugh?"

He sighed. Elayne could be so silly sometimes. She was so impulsive almost to the point of recklessness, and flighty besides. And she flirted with anything that looked vaguely male, even at the young age of fourteen. He needed to protect her – of course, that was _technically _Gawyn's job, but he was hardly better than his sister. It had to be the red hair. He'd never been so foolhardy.

"Galad," she said, "If I asked you for something, would you give it to me?"

He stiffened. "That depends."

She tittered again, beaming up at him. He blinked. She was far too free with that smile, and it confused him every time. "Don't be _ridiculous, _Galad," she said. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything that would compromise your precious honor. But you have to promise you'll go through with it."

Galad rolled his eyes. She pouted her lip at him, and he sighed. When Elayne got that expression, she wouldn't let it go without digging in her heels the whole way. "Fine," he said. "What do you want?"

"A kiss."

Galad laughed, bent down, and kissed her cheek.

"No, not there, you idiot. On the lips."

He stared at her. "Elayne, I'm your brother."

"So?"

"Brothers don't kiss their sisters like that."

"Well, now they do. And you promised." She looked up at him through pale eyelashes, her big blue eyes melting, her lower lip pouting again. Galad bit his lip, not sure what to do.

"Elayne…"

"Blood and bloody ashes, Galad!" She reached up on tiptoes, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head down to hers. Her lips on his were soft and warm. She kissed him warmly, passionately, her mouth slightly open. He wanted to put his arms around her, but he was afraid of what he might do if he got too close to her. She was so beautiful.

She stepped back, her tongue flicking over her full lips curved in a smile. She curtseyed. "Thank you, Sir Galad," she said at last, and darted off, laughing, leaving Galad standing transfixed, not at all sure what to think.

* * *

Galad did not like having his moralities challenged.

And there, sprawled in a chair, sipping his wine, was someone who challenged every single one of his moralities. His coat was wrinkled as if it had been slept in, and his hair was scruffy and unkempt. At least his boots were clean.

Galad had never liked unexpected visitors. Especially not this one. But he'd been so surprised to enter his tent and find him reading a book and settled in one of Galad's chairs, just as if he belonged there, he'd been unable to do anything and stare. And eventually say, "Would you like some wine?"

This was definitely the strangest afternoon visitor he'd ever had.

He sat down and gulped a large amount of wine to steady his nerves. Brandy would have been better, but rules were rules. Rand al'Thor closed the book he'd been reading and threw it on the ground. Galad winced. "So," he said. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing here."

Galad could only nod.

"I wanted to ask about our mother. Tigraine."

"You probably know more than I do. I don't remember much about her. Except that she was beautiful."

Rand smiled, slightly bitterly. "I guess that makes two of us. Two mothers, and I've lost them both."

Galad didn't ask. There was silence for several moments.

"What's the attraction in all this," Rand asked at last. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

Galad shrugged. "It suits me fine. It makes sense. That's all, really."

Rand nodded, slowly, and stood up. "I should go."

"I suppose you should."

He started to leave, then Galad twitched, wondering how to phrase this. "Wait," he said at last. "There's something…"

Rand turned around, his face etched with weariness. Galad felt sudden pity for this man younger than him, not much older than Gawyn, who bore the fate of the world on his shoulders. It no longer mattered that he could channel, if it ever had. He fished in his bag until he found the long ago forgotten brooch of House Damodred, the Crown and Tree. He pinned it to Rand's rumpled coat. "Welcome to House Damodred, brother," he said at last. They stared at each other, gray eyes meeting deep brown.

"Hello, brother," said Rand at last, and he reached out and they embraced for the first time. As Galad held his newfound brother close, he realized that Rand was shaking, trying to hold back sobs. He opened his mouth, closed it, and found he could say nothing.

"Hello, brother," murmured Galad, and wished he could find something more adequate to say.


	13. Power Play

_A/N: **THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR ADULT CONTENT, INCLUDING BONDAGE AND SEMI EXPLICIT SEX SCENES. PLEASE BE WARNED FOR YOUR OWN SAKE BEFORE READING. IF YOU THINK YOU MAY BE OFFENDED, DO NOT READ AND PLEASE DO NOT FLAME. THANK YOU FOR LISTENING. I AM DONE WITH THE CAPSLOCK.**_

_Have fun. Kinky BDSM Semirhage/Moghedien femslash. Need I say more?_

Moghedien was beginning to wish she'd never _heard _of Nynaeve al'Meara. It was all her fault she'd been humiliated, trapped, and now was stuck in Tel'aran'rhiod under complete control of the one person she was terrified of. Semirhage.

"Why am I here?" she moaned, watching Semirhage coil a whip around her hand, her long fingers stroking tenderly along the leather. Moghedien felt vaguely sick.

"Because Moridin told me I could have fun with you. So I'm planning to have fun with you." Semirhage turned and looked at Moghedien, her smile cold, dark eyes glittering. "You and I," she said in a chillingly soft voice, "Are going to have a _wonderful _time." Moghedien whimpered. Semirhage finished coiling her whip and left the rest of the instruments lying there. They vanished moments later. Semirhage would call them back when she needed them. For now, there was only the whip, Moghedien, and Semirhage. Then the latter waved her hand negligently and produced two solid, silver collars, linked by a thin silver chain. Semirhage smiled at Moghedien. A genuine, absolutely chilling smile.

"Remember this?" Moghedien stared at her.

"You wouldn't dare."

"You'd be surprised what I'll dare," said Semirhage silkily, her voice a deadly caress. Moghedien thought about stepping out of the dream now, but Moridin's hand brushed across her mind, and she shuddered. She wouldn't survive long if she fled now.

"Down, Moghedien." Semirhage's voice was a command, and one that held no room for disobedience. Moghedien groveled. She could cower. Someday she would show that arrogant, cold woman who was the cleverer. Someday. Unless Semirhage killed her first. Moghedien went limp with fear. Semirhage's hands slid tenderly around her neck, a caress, her breath warm on cold, clammy skin. Cold metal brushed her neck and clicked closed. The sensation was all too familiar. "Do not think of disobeying me. I can give you pain…or I can give you pleasure. Using this toy," Semirhage flicked the silver leash, "I could leave you a gibbering, insane wreck if I so desire. Do you understand me?" Moghedien nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Semirhage smiled. "Good girl."

A wave of pure bliss crashed over her. Moghedien writhed, arching her back, moaning with the pleasure that verged on excruciating pain. Moghedien didn't remember the last time she'd bedded a man, but this, she thought dimly, must be what it was like to climax.

The blissful pain was gone, so quickly that Moghedien thrashed a moment longer before collapsing to the ground, panting. The _a'dam_ was cold around her limp neck. She licked her lips and scrabbled to grovel at Semirhage's feet, kissing her dress hem. The woman pulled her skirt away delicately, the tip of her slender whip brushing Moghedien's neck. It might have been an accident.

"Enough play," said Semirhage briskly. "Down, Spider. Back to me. This toy is fun, but…" the _a'dam _vanished. Moghedien breathed a sigh and didn't both to think of trying to run. She crouched, back curved to Semirhage, and tensed for the first blow. It looked as though Semirhage was not interested in using her usual subtlety. That was probably a good thing. The victims of Semirhage's nastier games usually didn't live to tell the tale.

The first stroke was like liquid fire down her back. The tip of the leather was white hot, burning cleanly through flesh and skin alike. Blood oozed from burnt skin. Moghedien bit her lip to keep from screaming; she would not give Semirhage the satisfaction.

The second stroke lashed across her buttocks, the third and fourth on both her shoulders. Semirhage was methodically stripping her dress away. The whip flicked between her legs and striped a line of pain down her abdomen. The rags of her dress fell away and vanished, and she was naked beneath the burning scourge of Semirhage's wrath. Moghedien couldn't help it. She screamed.

Finally the whip stopped. Moghedien was alone with her welts, limp, exhausted, whimpering. But not for long. Semirhage's hand tangled in her hair, dragging her head upward to meet her cold eyes. She stepped out of her dress and moved toward her, flowing like a vicious cat to her prey, and stood there in her naked glory, considering Moghedien.

Her dark skin was the color of freshly turned soil. Her legs were long and slender, her abdomen flat, the slight curve of a waist leading to narrow hips. The tangled curls between her legs were coal black. Her whole body exuded a sense of sensual danger. Moghedien felt a sudden wetness between her legs and shivered at that strange attraction.

Semirhage hauled Moghedien up by the hair to a kneeling position, level with the apex of her legs. She thrust her hips forward. "Pleasure me," she said huskily, and Moghedien could smell the sweaty, heady scent of her desire. Semirhage shoved her down, between and under Semirhage's body, her splayed, dark legs taut and tense around her, hands still tangled in Moghedien's hair. Moghedien breathed deeply of Semirhage's musky scent, and felt a shifting of power.

Her head burrowed upward, fingers gently pressing the sensitive skin, parting the folds of moist lips with careful fingers, and pressing her lips to the tender red flesh, licking, caressing. Semirhage's hands kneaded her shoulders, nails diffing into welts that were all too fresh, moaning softly. Moghedien worked her tongue and teeth frantically, nibbling, kissing, and at last found what she'd been looking for. She thrust her tongue inwards and upwards and swirled it around, probing the crevasses of Semirhage's body. Semirhage's hands clenched, and she gasped. A new wave of wetness surged over Moghedien's searching tongue, and she savored the taste of Semirhage, and with it, the sweet taste of control. She probed deeper, harder.

Semirhage's body bucked, her hands seizing Moghedien, throwing her backwards, skin on skin a tangle of legs arms mouths hands. Semirhage's fingers between her legs, probing, searching, stabbing, her teeth biting Moghedien's lips until she tasted blood. She screamed, a shriek of pure terror. And Tel'aran'rhiod vanished.

She lay crumpled on the floor, naked, aching, sobbing. Moridin's boots tapped near her head. "Tsk," he said sounding pleased. "You pushed her too far. She's vicious when she's aroused." He smiled lasciviously, remembering some "play" session, no doubt. Moghedien shivered. "I'll let you get dressed and clean up," he said coldly. "Wear your uniform. We're going out."

"Where?" she asked tremblingly.

"Tel'aran'Rhiod. We're meeting your comrades." He coldly met her eyes. "Semirhage will be there."

Moghedien could only whimper.

Semirhage was focused, her eyes closed as she pressed her needle against the netting, sensing the place where it would slide through. It was relaxing, needlework. And besides, it was amusing how terrified others were when she brought it along. And a needle was handy weapon, if worst came to worst.

"Hello, Semirhage."

She jolted out of her almost-trance and forced herself to turn her head lazily, hooding her eyes lazily. "Ah. Moridin. What brings you here?" It was harder than she would have liked to adopt nonchalance with him, but she could manage. It was better than the alternative.

He settled down in the chair across from her, running a hand through tousled hair. The _saa _drifted across one eye. Another ran across the other eye in the other direction. Semirhage shivered and drew back slightly. The pitcher floated across the room as he poured himself a glass of the blood-red wine that Semirhage favored. He sipped it, smiled, and looked up at her. "I was bored. I thought you might be willing to…entertain me."

She stared at him. "I'm not one to entertain guests…Moridin. You, of all people, should know that."

"Oh, I think you might like my idea of entertainment." Something brushed against her cheek, traced the line of her chin, trailed down her neck with a whisper, slipped under the edge of her dress and tickled her breast. She jumped and stiffened, snarling at Moridin. He lifted his glass to her and smiled. The _saa _drifted across his eyes again. "Good wine," he said softly, his eyes firmly on her face.

"I am not your love toy," said Semirhage sharply. "I'm not interested."

The flow of Air – now trailing fingers up her thigh that were increasingly difficult to ignore – suddenly lashed around her, pinioning her arms to her side, clutching her around the waist and pulling her out of her chair and face to face with a standing Moridin. "I think," he said mildly, setting down his wine, "That you are whatever I decide you are."

Gathering her courage, she spat in his face. Casually, he twisted her arm. She clenched her knuckles, determined not to make a sound, her face in a rictus of pain. She dug her nails solidly into the inside of his wrist. He let go and smiled at her, bowing slightly. The flow of Air released her. She reached for _saidar _and held it, prepared to spring.

He leaned back, picked up his wine glass, and drank some more of the heady liquid. Semirhage relaxed slightly. And then something shot through her body from between her legs all the way through her spine, every nerve thrilling. Her head snapped back, her hips jerked forward instinctively, dampness surging in deep and secret places. She stared at him and glided to her chair, removed her needle, glided over to him, pushing her shoulders back, swaying her hips. Imitating Graendal, in fact. She pressed her body against his as he stood up, staring at her with those _saa _filled eyes. She bent her head to press her face against his neck, her lips brushing the skin, and she placed her needle beneath his chin. This was a game she understood.

"Should I?" she whispered into his skin, pressing her point just slightly. A bead of blood dripped down the metal onto her finger. Ignoring it, she ran her hand down his stomach, palm pressing into him, until she reached his crotch and seized him, pulling him forward into her hips. She ground into him for a moment and pushed him back down into the chair. She curtseyed and turned her back on him.

He grabbed her buttocks, his hand shoving between her legs to grab the front of her pelvis, pulling her back onto his lap, rolling her over so he straddled her in the chair, sprawled over her, legs spread wide around her, his eyes half-mad but glinting with pleasure. He thrust his hips against hers, his teeth nibbling on the skin of her neck. She let him dominate her, let him run his hands up her thighs, sliding her dress up her bare legs, let him toy with the curls between her legs, let him press his hand around her throat and push her head back so he could nibble at the hollow of her throat. In return, she scratched furrows in his back, his neck. He wanted her – she could feel his hardness – but he was toying with her.

At last, Semirhage tangled her fist in his hair and yanked his head back, going for his throat with teeth bared. She bit him hard enough to draw blood, sensed his pulse beneath her teeth, and shoved him back, tearing open his shirt, tickling her first flow of _saidar _she'd used down his chest while probing flows of Spirit into his mind, stimulating pleasure centers. He hands gripped him fiercely, running down his covered manhood. He arched his back toward her, pressing himself against her, and she pressed back but refused to release him. Her heart thudded, every sensation more alive and real. Her legs bared to the hips, she straddled Moridin even as he threw her back and forced her legs apart, his tongue weaving a path of pleasure in the sensitive skin between her thighs. With every stroke and nibble, she jerked and whimpered, needing him, her hips rising automatically upward. At last he slid upward, his tongue trailing over her navel, between her breasts. She pulled his mouth to his, her tongue invading his mouth and pressing his down, forcing its way in, and bit his lower lip in her teeth, savoring the taste of his blood as he kicked off his breeches at last and thrust hard and deeply into her.

He was vicious and hard, and she jerked with pain and hissed, pulling him in harder, her nails pinching his erect nipples on his bare chest, digging into the skin of his shoulders, holding his mouth forcefully to hers. He bit her tongue, and their blood mingled in a bitter, coppery mixture. Then he was gone. One moment he was thrusting into her eagerly, and the next he was nowhere to be seen, and was left whimpering with unreleased pleasure mingled with pain. Examining her half naked body, she was surprised to find bruises. It had been a long time since she'd played like that. Men were much too easily dominated these days. And women, too.

Apparently Ishamael had learned something from death. He'd never been that good before.

Semirhage smiled, licked her lips, and smoothed her dress down. She picked up the wine that had been spilled in the throes of passion, and inverted the weave as she pulled the wine out of the carpet and dumped it into the sink, watching the blood-red liquid drain, and smiled.


	14. Press, Push, and Ponder

_A/N: Okay, I lied. _

_I'm dead._

_Really._

_My ghost is posting this._

_Feel free to poke me into posting the next chapter._

_Rated K+ unless duly noted. _

_CRACKASM:_

_Alanna/Mat: Whee. Hot hot. _

_**Summary: **Mat goes looking for Bodewhin and finds Alanna instead. He gets a bit more than he bargained for. _

_Elayne/Egwene: Ah. Yes. This one. Been meaning to do for a while._

_**Summary: **Elayne thinks she knows what love is like, but Egwene might have a better idea._

_Thom/Mother Guenna: In the immortal words of mah 'satz: "the pensioner fluff."_

_**Summary: **Thom can't handle his healers. _

_Leane/Siuan: Did no one other than me feel this?_

_**Summary: ** Siuan needed some comforting. Leane will provide. Rated T.  
_

_Leane/Logain: Pathetic. Not sure how good it is, but it was juicy enough that I had to try._

_**Summary: **Leane goes out of her way to seduce Logain. Might not be too far out of her way, though. Rated high T.  
_

_Abell/Tam: Youko, you smack'd my muse'd._

_**Summary: **Spending all their money on me, all their time on me, (she's got me spending…) Kidding. Anyway. Abell is very good at distracting Tam from his preoccupation._

_Rand/Logain: Dedicated to the lovely YoukoKoenma._

_**Summary: **Rand gets an unpleasant surprise. Though unpleasant might not quite be the word. Rated T.  
_

_Done. _

_Teehee. _

_Oh, and if you're waiting to review until I finish, please don't. Because I don't think I'll ever put an end to this lovely panoply of pathetically ponderous pairings. Complete with alliteration. __  
_

* * *

Alanna Mosvani was sitting in her room, relaxing, and pondering what to do about Rand. She examined her sense of him, turning it over as if it were an interesting specimen of stone on a beach, and tried not to think of the man attached to it. She did a lot of thinking about him lately. It was a little hard not to, considering what the man put himself through. Vile, stupid, stubborn…

The door banged open, and her head snapped up, half-expecting to see a furious Dragon standing there, as if he could hear her innermost thoughts, even as she knew that he hadn't moved. Instead, there in the doorway stood a slight, lean man, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and scowling at her from a very handsome face. "Alanna Mosvani?" he said suddenly, his voice strangely melodic from such a scruffy man.

Unconsciously, she smoothed her skirts, and then scolded herself for doing so. "Yes," she said. "And you are?" she tried to keep the interest out of her voice, to make it just a query, maybe even an accusation: _what do you think you are doing here? _But he gave her an odd look and stepped back a little, so she guessed that some of her feelings had shown in her eyes. She looked him from head to toe surreptitiously as he tugged his coat straight, looking down briefly. By the time he made eye contact with her again, she had gotten herself composed. And reaffirmed her keen interest in the stranger.

After all, it wasn't every day a handsome young man came knocking on your door, asking for you by name. Especially when you were an Aes Sedai.

"I'm looking for a Bodewhin Cauthon. R…I was told that she was here with some other Two Rivers girls."

"You still haven't answered my question."

He looked at her for a while, and quirked his mouth in a smile. "I thought you might have guessed."

"I had a suspicion when you mentioned the girl's last name. Heard a lot about you, Matrim. Not all of it from your sister. Come in and sit down."

He laughed. "I'm not stupid. I've been warned about you. Besides, you're Green Ajah."

"Warned?"

"Several times. Besides, Moiraine told me to be careful around anyone of Green Ajah. I don't care to end up bonded to an Aes Sedai."

"We would never bond against a man's will."

"I'll let Rand know that, next time I see him." The man's smile was small, his eyes glittering like a cat's. He knew he'd hit home. She shrugged and sat back.

"Suit yourself," she said casually. Silence hung between them for a few moments.

"Bodewhin?"

"Probably still sleeping off the scare Rand gave her and the others."

He glanced at her and was silent. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Upstairs. But won't you stay and talk with me for a bit? I'm fascinated to meet my third _ta'veren_."

"I can't tell you anything about it. I'm just lucky."

She appraised him openly. "I'll say," she said with a small smile. This was a game she understood.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Now I understand why Moiraine told me to be wary of Green Ajah. Are you all this bad?"

"I've always prided myself on being worse than the others."

He glanced at her, his eyes considering. "I don't know that worse is quite the right word. You're very fine, for an Aes Sedai." Something had changed in his stance as he relaxed into the familiar rhythms of the flirting dance. It was almost natural for him. Not surprising, considering his face.

"Would you like a drink?" she saw his wariness and laughed. "Not up here. Down in the common room. Don't worry, I can't do anything to you without someone noticing. Nothing you don't want me to do, anyway." She narrowed her eyes at him. He laughed as if he couldn't help himself, but kept his distance and didn't move to help her gather her papers and put them away.

"You are worse than the others, aren't you?"

"I certainly hope so."

She glided over to the door and offered her arm with a smile. He looked at it briefly as if considering a sleepy viper, and then extended his arm. "I guess Bodewhin can wait a few minutes," he said quietly.

"I should think so."

* * *

Elayne's eyes were very clear through the hole in the wall that connected their rooms. Egwene perched on her elbows and considered Elayne's question.

It was dark, the only light the reflection of Egwene's small lantern off Elayne's eyes. It would have been easier to use _saidar_ for light, but she didn't dare risk even the smallest of sparks. If a sister sensed it, they would be scrubbing dishes until Lan was an Aes Sedai. It wasn't, maybe, the best time to talk, Egwene thought as she rubbed her watering eyes, but it was the only chance they had.

"The worst thing I've ever done was probably when I swam in the river near Emond's Field with Bodewhin. She's two years younger than either of us, but she'd already had her share of mischief. Mat wasn't the only one in the Cauthon household with a nose for trouble. He just got caught more."

She could see the flash of Elayne's teeth as the other girl smiled. "I love hearing you talk about the Two Rivers. Your life there seems so simple and kind, without all of the complications that I had here in Caemlyn."

"You think I'm a country bumpkin, don't you? Some kind of sheepherder from far away that you can tell all your sophisticated socialite friends about?" Egwene didn't know why Elayne's words made her angry, but she couldn't help snapping at her. Elayne seemed injured as she replied.

"No! No, that's not it at all. I just like hearing about someplace that isn't stained with all the intrigue of the court in Caemlyn."

"I see." Egwene knew that she sounded petulant, but she could hardly help herself. Some part of her wanted to lash out at Elayne for some reason, _any _reason, really. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Egwene sighed. "My turn," she said flatly.

"That's right." Elayne's voice was subdued, and Egwene nearly winced at the note of hurt in it. She felt a brief twinge of guilt and hurried to ask her question. "Have you ever kissed a boy?"

Elayne laughed, suddenly, and Egwene relaxed. "Actually, it's funny you should ask," she said. "I was just thinking about it. I remember once when I was really little, I asked Galad to kiss me. You should have seen the look on his face! Of course, that was before I realized what a prick he was. And then there were the boys around the palace. I was shamelessly manipulative a few years ago, offering kisses on the cheek or maybe even on the lips if they'd do this or that for me. I was such a little brat."

"Still are," said Egwene, allowing herself a smile.

Elayne blew a raspberry, and the last of the tension between them dissolved. Egwene's anger melted like sugar on the tongue. "What about you?" Elayne asked.

Egwene blushed. "Oh," she said. "Well. Only once. On the Green, when one of the girls said that she didn't think I'd even know what to do with a boy if I had one. So I just grabbed Rand and…kissed him. Just as mother came out. She got the wrong idea, of course."

Elayne nodded sagely. "That's mothers for you. Anyway, I have my question. Have you ever been in love?"

"Dunno," she said at last. "There's Rand, of course, but I don't know if that's really love. What does love feel like, anyway?"

Elayne smiled, the lines at the corner of her eyes crinkling. "Like stepping onto air and realizing that there's nothing there to step on and that falling isn't so bad after all. Like surrendering part of your soul to someone else. Like music heard at a distance or the smell of a fresh-baked pie." Elayne's voice was dreamy and distant. "Or," she said suddenly, her face in the candlelight flickering bright red. "That's what the gleemen say, anyway. Not like I would know."

Egwene grasped at something at the edge of her mind, feeling like Nynaeve was quizzing her on something that she should know. She nodded slowly and opened her mouth, trying to remember what it was she wanted to say. "Oh," she said finally, unable to think of anything else to say. And again, more quietly. "Oh."

"Footsteps in the hallway," Elayne whispered fiercely. "Quick, put out the light. I think it's Elaida."

Egwene winced. "G'night, Elayne," she said quickly, pulling open the lantern with clumsy fingers and pinching out the light. She lay down on her back and shoved the lantern under the bed, closing her eyes just before the door opened, letting in a stream of light. Egwene squinted up, trying to look convincingly surprised by the influx of light. "Elaida Sedai?" she said, in as sleepy a voice as she could muster.

"I thought I saw a light in here." Elaida's voice was not precisely accusing, but Egwene had to resist the temptation to wince.

"Not me. I'm exhausted, Elaida Sedai."

"I'll leave you to your rest, then, child." Elaida swept out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her. Egwene let out a sigh. Elayne's voice hissed through the hole in the wall. "You should be an actress."

"I'm very good at pretending," Egwene whispered back, and closed her eyes and tried to remember what it was she was trying to remember.

* * *

As soon as Mat was out the door, Thom realized that he was trapped.

"You idiot. What have you been doing? Wandering around in the cold and hacking your lungs out?"

He scowled and kept his mouth shut. She planted her fists on her hips. "Stubborn man. Always the same way. Driving yourself to the breaking point before coming to see anyone, and expecting a woman to fix all your problems. Well. You can go lay down on the couch while I make tea and mix some herbs for that cough. And no arguing."

"You sound like a mother."

"Then she must have been a sensible woman. Now go!" Thom went. She came back a few moments later, holding a steaming cup. "Drink the tea," she told him.

"I don't want to."

He didn't know how she did it. Suddenly she pulled him upright and dumped the tea in his protesting mouth. He swallowed convulsively. It tasted foul. His tongue curled, automatically. "What _was _that?" he sputtered.

"Tea. Open your mouth."

"What are you giving me now?"

"Something for the cough. Open."

He shook his head and kept his lips stubbornly closed. She pinched his nose. Finally he could hold his breath no longer. He opened his mouth just slightly to take a quick breath, and had a moment of syrupy, bitter liquid on his tongue before he swallowed automatically. Mother Guenna washed it down with a liberal splash of the foul tea.

"Are you trying to kill me, woman?" he burst out as soon as he could breathe again.

"You're a man. You probably wouldn't know the difference, anyway."

He growled at her. Mother Guenna unbuttoned his jacket and started to remove his shirt. "What are you doing?" he asked indignantly.

"Putting hot packs on your chest to clear up your lungs. Relax."

He tried to sit up. "Now listen, woman, I,"

It was dirty and underhanded. Before he could get another word out, the woman had poured more of the stinking tea down his throat. While he was still trying to get a breath, coughing, she moved. "Oh dear. That doesn't sound good. Some more syrup, perhaps?" He scowled at her, but said nothing, and lay back, allowing her to remove his shirt. Moments later, she slapped a wet cloth on his skin. He roared. His skin was going to blister.

"Don't be such a baby. They have to be hot to work."

He subsided reluctantly. She smiled charmingly at him. "You're going to need to relax for a few days. I'll be keeping you here for a while and making sure you don't strain yourself."

He groaned. She smiled wider, her eyes dancing wickedly. She held up the kettle of steaming liquid. "Tea?"

* * *

Leane ran the brush through her hair, counting the strokes to herself. The door opened and closed quietly, and she heard the beat of familiar footsteps behind her. She finished her counting, and turned around to look at the young woman who had been an infamous Amyrlin Seat. "Siuan?" she said quietly.

Her hair was disheveled, her eyes red and her face streaked from crying. She didn't look like herself, and it wasn't just the age change that…stilling…had brought on. Siuan never looked anything less than cool and collected, unless she was angry. It was unsettling. A shiver ran up her spine and tingled on her neck.

"I'm scared, Leane," she said. "I feel so tired and empty. Tonight I just felt like I wanted to let go and…give up. I don't want that to happen."

This was the fate that all stilled women and gentled men feared. The loss of will, or interest or desire to live. Until all that was left was a woman who went through life in a daze and eventually starved to death, turning her face to the wall and refusing to live. And Leane was not going to let Siuan resign to such a fate.

"Sit down. I'm going to get something for you to drink."

"W-what?"

"You are about to get very drunk."

Siuan spluttered and started to protest, but Leane poked her with a finger. "You are no longer the Amyrlin Seat, and I am no longer your Keeper of the Chronicles. You are a distraught young woman who needs to take her mind off her troubles. So stay put. I'll be right back."

It didn't take long to procure a tray full of drinks for the two of them. She asked for their strongest wine and added a liberal splash of brandy to it. Then she ascended the stairs and shoved a glass into Siuan's unresisting hand. "Right then," she said. "Down it goes." Siuan looked at her, rolled her eyes, and tossed back the glass. She gasped as the fire of the brandy hit. Her eyes slid out of focus for a moment, then cleared. This was going to be easier than she thought.

Leane took her own glass and sipped it as she watched Siuan down a second, grimacing at the kick. Siuan didn't seem to mind so much. By her third glass, she was already giggling madly, her eyes unfocused. Leane plucked the glass from her hand and removed the tray, putting it safely out of reach. "We want you drunk, not insensible," she muttered.

"Leane, I feel good now," said Siuan, her voice loose and slurred. Leane bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I don't think I could dance, though. Am I supposed to dance?"

"No, you don't have to dance."

"I wish I could still touch _saidar." _There was undeniable longing in that voice as Siuan swayed drunkenly on the edge of the bed. Leane reached over and pulled the other woman's chin around to face her.

"Siuan, let's not think about that right now. How about a kiss, just to take our minds off things?"

Siuan blinked. "What?"

"No strings attached. Just a kiss."

Siuan was shaking her head, obviously confused, and Leane swooped in. She kissed Siuan fiercely on her slightly parted lips. Her surprised breath tasted like berries with a tang of brandy on the edge of it. Siuan's hands were clutching at her head, holding her shoulders, pulling her waist closer as her mouth made little murmuring noises. Leane started to pull away from the kiss, but Siuan pulled her down, murmuring slightly, and Leane couldn't resist. Her hands tangled in Siuan's hair, she kissed her face and neck, listening to Siuan murmuring in her ear, "Yes, yes, yes," as her Amyrlin's hands ran up and down her back.

* * *

Leane put the finishing touches on her makeup and appraised herself in the mirror. She scowled. "You look like a whore," she told her reflection, and twisted her mouth. "Though I suppose that was the look you were going for."

Bloody Siuan and her bloody ideas. "Leane, why don't you seduce Logain and see if you can get him attached to you? I don't like him wandering around hating everyone in our camp. It makes me nervous," whined Leane to her mirror. "Please." Of course, she could have said no. She should have said no. Siuan needed to learn that she did not rule Leane's life by her whims. She wasn't the Amyrlin any more, and she needed to bloody realize it!

Though it wasn't really like she didn't want to bed Logain. That was just the problem. She did. Had, since she'd picked up all the Domani tricks. He was a challenge, he was an enigma, and besides, he had nice eyes. And shoulders. And a very pretty voice.

Still.

She rolled her eyes, sighed, and rubbed a touch of scent on her neck and wrists. Her hands trembled, and she gripped the table to steady herself, resisting the urge to pull the clinging, nearly transparent dress up. It felt like it was going to fall off! She was so nervous. Bloody man. Why was he making her do this? Why was _Siuan _making her do this. It was all her fault.

There was some comfort in being unreasonable. She wanted to detach herself from her body, to drift along cold and aloof. Of course, cold and aloof would seduce very few. She would have to feel everything, tonight. Every kiss, every brush of skin, every tongue on her –

Leane shoved that thought away, blushing. How, _how _was she going to do this? "Well, not by worrying," she said at last, feeling very annoyed, and more than a little scared. "He's not a Dragon, girl," she said, trying to chuckle weakly at her joke. It just made her tremble as she remembered how he'd ripped Ghealden apart before he'd been gentled. With a sigh, she pulled her cloak closer around her and exited her rooms, stepping lightly across the ground in shoes that were silk, thin, and certainly less than practical. However, Leane wasn't going for practical. It was a pity, too.

She navigated through the quiet streets of Salidar. She was lucky – most of the Sisters were inside right now; it was a cold night. Hoping she got the right house, she stepped delicately up to the door, paused, breathed deeply, and knocked.

She waited a few moments before she heard footsteps coming from the other side of the door, and a moment later the door opened. Hastily, she arranged her shawl and put her hand on her hip, pushing her shoulders back and her neck craned gracefully forward and upward. At least she hadn't forgotten all her lessons. Logain peered down at her. He blinked, his eyes widening, before they settled back into that dull, lifeless gaze. "What are you doing here?" he asked. She shivered. His voice was like a caress, low and delicious and thick, even when it was flat and toneless. What would it sound like when he whispered her name?

"I was lonely," she whispered. "And I thought of you." She laid her hand on his arm, her fingers putting just the slightest pressure on his skin. "Please. May I come in? My house is so cold, and it seems so…warm…here."

Logain blinked again, his brow furrowing, and for a moment Leane was afraid he was going to refuse. But at last he opened the door a little wider and stepped back. She came in, glancing around the sparsely furnished room, already planning her conquest. He stared at her for several moments. Silence stretched out. "Do you want anything?" he said at last."

Leane decided that with Logain, forthrightness might be the best way to go. She lowered her eyelashes and looked up at him, swaying her hips daringly as she moved toward him. "Do I want anything?" she asked softly, in a low, rich voice. She imagined reaching out with snares, luring him in. She needed to catch him. Burn him, she _wanted _to! "I wonder…" He blinked again, slowly, looking bewildered. Something flickered in those dark, flat eyes. She reached for him, and he moved as if to step backward, but didn't. Bravely, she stepped forward, let her fingers walk up his arm, touching the bare skin of his arms. Her hand reached his neck, tickled up the side, and cupped around it, his skin hot on her cool hands.

He flinched and pulled back. "What are you doing?" he asked sharply. That…_something…_flickered again, flared, and died. Something stirred in Leane's gut in response to that flicker, but she couldn't identify it yet. "Don't play with me."

"I'm not playing," Leane said, letting her lower lip poke out a little, pretending to be hurt. "I've wanted you…ever since I first saw you. But Siuan…" she sniffed, not having to pretend to look angry. "…well, she can't tell me what to do now. And…I'm here. Ready." She let her cloak slide back off one shoulder. Her excuse was thin – paper thin, ready to tear at any moment – but he was distracted by that glimpse of bare white skin, and by the idea that someone was telling him he wasn't universally hated and feared. That there was someone who might at least desire someone who had once been a False Dragon. "Logain…" she murmured. "I need you. Please. I'm lonely."

She moved toward him again, put her hands around her neck, stood up on her tiptoes, and pursed her lips with a small smile. "Kiss kiss?"

She had been expecting anything. Hesitancy, fear, wariness. But she hadn't expected this. This ravenous hunger. He kissed her, his mouth hot and hungry on hers, needing her, needing everything she had. She shrugged off her cloak, fear rising briefly before it was quelled in the sheer bliss of his embrace, his lips insistent on hers. She pressed her body against his, twining a leg around his, letting her body rub against his as he kissed her, feeling his skin on her breasts beneath her thin dress. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, his tongue brushing her skin as insistently as his lips, needing her to need him. She submitted, let his hands remove her dress, let him kiss her and explore her naked body as she lay sprawled on the couch, head back, eyes closed, drinking in the feel of his fingers on the tender skin of her thighs.

He straddled her, panting, his long and lean body naked by now, his skin hard and tough, muscle rippling under the skin. He reminded her of a wolf, stalking, hungry, strong, graceful. Beautiful. He bent to kiss the hollow of her throat, but she laid her fingers against his lips. "One moment," she breathed, trying to catch her breath. "I think we've forgotten something."

He pulled back, and she was afraid she'd lost him. Rolling him over so she sprawled on top of him, she reached over to the light and switched it off. "Now," she said breathlessly, her fingers dragging through his silky black hair, "We can have some fun."

* * *

Abell found Tam cleaning out the empty paddock, the stench of dead flesh still permeating the air, though the plundered sheep were long gone. The farm looked the same as ever, the neat little house cleaned of the Trolloc mess that had been left behind when he and Rand fled to the village, the fences and barn repaired. But there were no animals, and no Rand, and Tam now carried his bow even as he went about his ordinary chores; Abell walked with his quarterstaff though he needed no support, and the Two Rivers folk walked a little more softly, looking over their shoulders every few steps as if expecting another disaster to rush them from behind.

"Tam, do you really think you should be working alone here all by yourself? It hasn't been many days since you were hurt, and if the Trollocs came again, you'd be terribly vulnerable. Why don't you come and stay in town?"

Tam looked over his shoulder, leaning on the shovel. There were new gray hairs in his tangled dark mane, and new worry lines etched his brow. "I'm fine," he said, and there was something queer in his voice. "I'm fine. Whatever that Moiraine Sedai did, she did well. I don't even have a scar."

Abell blinked. "At least come back to town and get a drink. You look exhausted. It can't hurt to rest for a bit."

"No, I don't think so." Abell opened his mouth to protest, but Tam overrode his protests. "I need to be here, working, cleaning up. If I'm not working, I'll just worry. About Rand. Who knows what he'll have to face out there? I worry, what if I forgot something when I was teaching him? Something important that he'll need?"

Abell tried to laugh. "You think I'm not worried about my son? At least Rand has a good head on his shoulders. Half the time I'm amazed Mattie still has a head at all. Listen to me, still calling him Mattie as if he was a little boy. They're nearly grown, now. They'll be okay. You're boy's a good one, and Perrin's good and solid, too. They'll keep the others safe and maybe even my boy steady."

Tam rolled his shoulders, standing up and leaning the shovel against the barn. "I suppose you're right," he said doubtfully. "We're in the same position, aren't we? Two fathers worried about their sons out in the world for the first time. How's Natti holding up?"

"Fine, when she's not fretting herself silly." Abell was rewarded with a flicker of a smile. "Come on. I'm not going to let you stay out here by yourself. You must be lonely. Come home with me. Natti's making pie tonight."

Tam opened the gate and stepped out, wiping sweat off his brow. A few of the worry lines seemed to smooth away. "Pie sounds wonderful," he said.

"I'll come back tomorrow and help you finish cleaning up. You can stay with us tonight. The girls will keep you busy. Wait until you hear Bodewhin nattering about Wil al'Seen. Not even braiding yet, and already setting her eye on young men."

"Kari always wanted a daughter." Melancholy crept back into Tam's voice. Abell forced a laugh.

"Be glad you don't have one. If you had, you'd regret it for the rest of your life. They're like having another wife, but worse."

Tam groaned. Abell sensed his friend allowing him to soothe him with words, even if they didn't mean anything for long. He kept talking. "Eldrin's at that stage where everything Bode does is perfection. She aspires to be her sister. Bode pretends not to like it, but she's pleased as a cat that's just caught a mouse. Natti's worried that she's going to make her sister do something stupid, but I don't think so. Bode's got more of a head than that." As he watched Tam's head bobbing and following his stories, the melancholy slowly retreating, Abell felt secretly grateful, and by the time they reached home, he felt a small lurch in his heart as he watched Tam smiling at some story he was telling without thinking. He smelled dinner cooking as they started down the path to the farm, and sighed. "Smells good," he said, inhaling deeply the smell of cooking poultry and bread.

Tam grinned. "Smells like home," he said.

Abell looked at his friend and his mouth twisted slightly. "Home is where the heart is," he said, unable to keep the bitter edge out of his voice. And his heart, he added silently, was not up the hill on that little house. It was right here beside him, smiling wistfully as he thought of a wife eighteen years dead.

* * *

Rand heard the door open and close and tensed. "My Lord Dragon," said Logain's silky voice. "Still awake at this hour?"

Rand allowed himself a small, bitter smile. "Obviously. What are you doing here?"

He didn't like the man very much, but at least Lews Therin didn't scream quite so loudly about killing Logain every time the man came into sight as he did about Taim. Now, he was just muttering softly in the back of his mind. Rand muted the sound to a buzz, automatically.

"I thought you might be needing some…assistance." There was something in Logain's voice that made Rand's shoulders tighten. He felt a small shiver in his gut. What was wrong with that tone of voice? Or, perhaps, what was familiar? At least they had settled into a sort of wary respect for each other rather than stepping in circles like two strange dogs. It made things a little easier. He had enough to deal with without fretting about Logain.

"No, thank you. I'm fine," he said stiffly. He heard Logain move closer, and stood up, turning around for the first time. He had the advantage of height over the older man, but Logain was broader in the shoulders. Logain's eyes were dark and smoky, his mouth curled in a small, knowing grin. It was not Taim's half-smile, but it still bugged the hell out of him. The man's face was strikingly contrasted in the warm glow of the candles he kept lit. He found himself noticing the hollows of shadows and ridges of yellow light keenly. He flinched and pulled away.

Logain moved closer again, his hand now resting on the desk. "Are you sure?"

"Burn you, Logain, what do you want?" snapped Rand, trying to rein in his temper. What _was _it about that smile, that voice, that look in his eyes that made something in his gut churn and stir, and something primal in his body respond?

Logain smile grew broader. "What do I want?" his eyebrows arched delicately. His hair was neatly brushed, curling at his shoulders. The light in the room glowed on his skin. Rand couldn't believer he was noticing these things now.

It must have been the anger, the forgetting who he was facing. It never would have happened otherwise. Logain moved like a striking snake. In a moment his arms were pinioning Rand's to his sides, his warm mouth insistent as he pressed into Rand, Logain's hips against his as the older man pressed him into the table. For a fleeting instant, he thought of struggle, but a moment later the warmth of Logain's lips on his, his tongue probing and insistent in his mouth, drove the idea out of his mind. He pushed feebly against the man, but Logain pushed Rand's arms back, pinning his wrists to the desk, knocking papers to the floor as he bent Rand over the desk, Logain's hips still matched against Rand's. He could feel his body responding, and for one breathless instant Logain pulled back and reached to unbutton his shirt, but Rand snarled and pulled him back, his hands seizing handfuls of rich black hair.

He didn't remember much of anything except a blur of sensations and skin and frantic shedding of clothing, except that as he lay on his stomach, crying out with something akin to pain as Logain had his wicked way with him.


	15. You Know Me

_A/N: In other news, Georgia has been surplanted by Trebuchet MS as my default font. So there. _

_I am so dead I don't even know how dead I am. That is why there are only two pairings this chapter. _

_TEH KRAKEN:_

_BERELAIN/HOPPER: No. I am kidding._

_GRAENDAL/ARAN'GAR: OTS. One True Sluts. _

_**Summary:**__ Aran'gar messes with Graendal. Serious Bizness, it is._

_ELAYNE/BIRGITTE: Just. Plain. Cute._

_**Summary: **__Birgitte is upset, and Elayne gets to fuss._

_Next Chapter: (I hope)_

_AVIENDHA/EGWENE_

_NYNAEVE/MOIRAINE_

_ASMODEAN/MAT _

Graendal was feeling impatient.

She tapped her foot irritably. Crossed her legs. Crossed her arms. Uncrossed both and recrossed them again. Tugged on her earlobe. Twirled a strand of red-gold hair around her fingers. Stopped tapping her foot and started tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair. Adjusted and readjusted her _streith _dress. One thousand nervous habits, and a few minutes of waiting pulled them all out of her. It was infuriating.

Where _was_ the woman? She stood up and paced a few times, trying to walk the nervousness out of herself. Why was she nervous in the first place? She was Graendal. She was _Graendal. _

And yet, Aran'gar made Graendal nervous.

Maybe it was the fact that she had probably been dead at some point. Maybe it was the ambiguity of her gender identity. Maybe it was that they were just too similar. And maybe it was the unsettling way that she reminded her oddly of Balthamel at times.

Whatever it was, it was unnerving, and that bothered her.

Sighing, she shifted her hips and was about to open a gateway to fetch something a little warmer when a gateway rotated suddenly into existence in front of her.

Oh yes. That too. She felt nothing when Aran'gar channeled.

Being unnerved and annoyed made Graendal irritable. "You're late," were the first words out of her mouth. She scowled. That sounded petulant, childish, and unintelligent. Not a good start.

"You weren't the only one I had to meet with." Arangar raised a delicate eyebrow, her heart shaped face tilted oh-so-slightly, mouth twisted in a malevolent red-lipped grin. "Jealous?"

Graendal tried not to squirm or scowl. She tried to keep her face neutral. By the pleased expression on Aran'gar's face, she succeeded at neither. "No, but when you ask to meet me, I'd like you to be punctual."

She offered a little curtsy that was definitely mocking. Of course, there was nothing she could say that wouldn't only sound more stupid. "Of course, my lady. I wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities."

"My delicate sensibilities aside," said Graendal deliberately, "Let's talk about an agreement. That was the purpose of this little get-together, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes. An…agreement." Aran'gar moved the other chair over so that she was sitting next to Graendal, and her hand rested lightly on Graendal's. Carefully, Graendal moved away. She didn't like sitting so close to her. And especially didn't like the contact. "That was the purpose.

"What kind of agreement were you after?"

"One that would benefit both of us." Aran'gar's hand trailed down her hand and caressed her fingers. Graendal stared at her.

"What are you doing?"

Hand still stroking Graendal's fingers, Aran'gar turned, a dangerous light in her eyes. And one that was a little familiar, too. She tried to edge away, but somehow Aran'gar had her hand clasped around the back of her head. Frozen, she stared into dangerously dancing eyes. "I? I am doing nothing. Nothing…at…all."

She moved. The hand caressing her fingers snaked around her waist and pulled her upright, twining her into a close embrace, lips pressed against Aran'gar's. Her tongue flicked lightly against Graendal's closed lips, and the caressing hands sent sensual pleasure washing through her whole body. Too startled to move, a few moments later Graendal tried to push Aran'gar away, then used flows of Air to pry her off. Panting, she leaned against her chair, knees wobbling. "What do you think you're doing?" She gasped. "Business! We were here to talk business!" Graendal was flustered, but she wouldn't admit that even to herself.

Aran'gar swayed closer. Her fingers pressed against Graendal's lips. She couldn't move. "Business," she said softly, "Yes. Business."

Graendal tried to back away, but she was trapped. Her arms were suddenly and inexplicably around Aran'gar's waist. "Hm, sounds good to me," said Aran'gar.

Graendal had just enough time to mutter something about serious business when Aran'gar's lips settled on hers, and suddenly kissing was serious business after all.

* * *

Birgitte sat in her room, toying with her braid and thinking about Gaidal Cain. She wondered where he was. If he was a squalling babe even now, hardly aware of anything but his mother and his next meal. If he would know her, when he was grown. If she would know him. Melancholy settled deep into her bones, and she rubbed at an aching forehead wearily. She needed to sleep more, and both she and Elayne were suffering.

As if summoned by a thought, the girl was there, sitting down on the bed beside her and rubbing her shoulders gently. "What's wrong, Birgitte?" she asked. Birgitte cursed the bond that flowed both ways. She could feel Elayne's concern brushed with pity, and didn't want either.

"You should be resting. It's late," she said tersely.

"First I want to know what's keeping you awake at night so that I can hardly keep from yawning through the whole day."

Birgitte sighed. "It's nothing, Elayne. I promise I'll go to sleep. You should rest."

Elayne stopped kneading her shoulders. She turned Birgitte to face her, her eyes frustrated as they searched her face. Birgitte met her eyes evenly. "I'm fine," she said, and proudly kept the waver out of her voice.

Elayne rapped her hand, hard. Birgitte winced and jerked away. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"Lini always rapped my knuckles when I lied to her."

"I'm not – ouch! Elayne!"

She glowered at Elayne, and Elayne glowered right back. She tried to make her voice insistent. "Go to bed. Now."

Elayne shook her head, her eyes softening slightly. "It's about Gaidal, isn't it?"

Birgitte felt the tears sting at her eyes. She shook her head violently. "No."

Elayne's arms went around her, pulling her close. Birgitte held herself stiff, her vision suddenly blurry. "I'm sorry," said Elayne softly, her voice full of tenderness. "I wish there was something I could do."

"There's nothing you can do, because there's nothing wrong." Birgitte choked on the words. Elayne didn't bother to smack her. She was lying, and they both knew it.

"Birgitte…" Elayne's voice was full of longing and desire to help. Birgitte flinched away from that, trying to ignore the throbbing pity she felt through the bond.

"Nothing," Birgitte managed to say, before she dissolved. She was weeping uncontrollably, great, gulping, undignified sobs, into Elayne's silk-clad shoulder, glad of the comforting support of her Aes Sedai's arms. Without them, she thought, she would just melt into a heap of blubbering woman on the floor. "I'm so o-o-old and what if he doesn't w-w-want me?" she sobbed into her shoulder, and Elayne just held her and made soothing noises.

When the earth-shaking sobs faded to little hiccups, Elayne put her arm around Birgitte's waist and helped her to stand. Her knees were weak, and her eyes ached. She caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, puffy and red-stained. "He always said I shouldn't cry, since I looked so horrible afterwards," she murmured, and nearly dissolved again. Elayne held her up. Bigitte clung to her, a solid rock in an emotional sea.

"Come on, sweetheart," said Elayne quietly, and before Birgitte could protest being called 'sweetheart,' she was being helped gently, but firmly, out of her own room and down the hall. "You're sleeping in my room tonight. No arguing. You need some company."

Birgitte let herself be dragged along, feeling limp and exhausted. Secretly, she was glad that Elayne was taking control. Now, more than ever, she needed a big sister. Elayne dragged her into bed and tucked her in, calling a maid to bring in some tea. Birgitte closed her eyes and wallowed in a sea of sweet smelling blankets, allowing Elayne to fuss over her. It felt good. Slipping off into sleep just as the tea was coming in, the last thing she remembered was Elayne leaning over her and kissing her forehead tenderly. Her lips were soft and warm. "Good night, Birgitte," she said.

Birgitte opened her mouth to say something, but before she could remember what the something was, she was asleep.


End file.
